M«B»*  §  *  *  «  f  «  *  *  •  *  * 


jr      IK  H 


BREAKING  A  BUTTERFLY 


OB 


BLANCHE   ELLERSLIE'S   ENDING. 


.'I 

'* 


THE  CUT  DIRECT 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S 


ENDING. 


BY   THE   AUTHOR   OF    "GUY   LIVINGSTONE,"   ETC. 


a 


's  (Stiitton. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS. 


CHICAGO : 

HENRY    A.    SUMNER    &    COMPANY. 

BOSTON  :    CHARLES    H.    WHITING. 
1884. 


EKTKKKD  1884. 
HKJBT  A.  SUMNKE  &  COMPASY. 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 


THE  CUT  DIRECT    ......      Frontispiece. 

PAGE 
LADY   NITHSDALE ,40 

"  HE   HAS   NEVER   ASKED   ME"          .  .  .  .  .  .61 

"I   ARREST   YOU   IN  THE   QUEEN'S   NAME"  ...  91 

UNDER  THE   GREENWOOD   TREE       ....  .    116 

A   RENCONTRE .  .  •         160 

NESTLED   IN  A   COSY   NOOK 175 

THE   DEATH-BED   OF   MARY   WELSTED  ....         236 


2136897 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

CHAPTER  1 9 

CHAPTER          II 19 

CHAPTER         III 22 

CHAPTER         IV 33 

CHAPTER  V 89 

CHAPTER         VI 43 

CHAPTER       VII 57 

CHAPTER     VIII 64 

CHAPTER          IX 73 

CHAPTER  X 79 

CHAPTER         XI 87 

CHAPTER       XII 94 

CHAPTER     XIII 101 

CHAPTER      XIV 108 

CHAPTER        XV „ 118 

CHAPTER      XVI 126 

CHAPTER    XVII 136 

CHAPTER  XVIII , 146 

CHAPTER      XIX 153 

CHAPTER        XX 161 

CHAPTER      XXI 173 

CHAPTER    XXII 184 

CHAPTER  XXIII 196 

'(Yii) 


viii 


CONTENTS. 


PAGB 

CHAPTER          XXIV 203 

CHAPTER  XXV 214 

CHAPTER          XXVI 226 

CHAPTER        XXVII 239 

CHAPTER      XXVIII 250 

CHAPTER         XXIX 259 

CHAPTER  XXX 269 

CHAPTER         XXXI 279 

CHAPTER        XXXII 287 

CHAPTER      XXXIII 295 

CHAPTER       XXXIV 806 

CHAPTER        XXXV 315 

CHAPTER      XXXVI 324 

CHAPTER     XXXVII 330 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII 886 

CHAPTER       XXXIX 845 

CHAPTER  XL 351 

CHAPTER  XLI 355 

CHAPTER  XL11 362 

CHAPTER         XLIII 871 

CHAPTER          XLIV ; 376 

CHAPTER  XLV 883 

CHAPTER          XLVI 389 


BREAKING  A  BUTTERFLY 


BLANCHE   ELLERSLIE'S   ENDING. 


CHAPTER  I. 

ALL  is  VANITY. 

Those  three  words  come  often  home  to  many  who 
never  willingly  listen  to  sermon  ever  so  short,  or  sit 
under  preacher  ever  so  winning — ay,  and  to  many  of 
creeds,  nations,  and  languages  other  than  ours,  who  have 
not  so  much  as  heard  of  the  name  of  Ecclesiastes.  The 
world's  kaleidoscope  may  shift  as  it  will,  with  myriad 
changes  of  form  and  color ;  but  the  center-point  of  the 
prisms  bides  steadfast  and  unaltered,  round  which  is  in- 
scribed the  trite  old  dreary  text.  Frequent  among  the 
illustrations  of  its  truth  are  those  trifling  disillusions — 
scarcely  amounting  to  disappointments — that  affect  us 
when  we  confess  that  the  reality  falls  somewhat  short  of 
the  ideal ;  that  the  substance  is  something  coarser  in  out- 
line, or  meaner  in  proportion,  than  the  foreshadowing. 

Said  a  friend  to  me,  the  other  day, — 

"  I  have  tramped  and  sailed  over  three  parts  of  the 
globe  now ;  and  I  never  saw  but  one  thing,  alive  or  dead, 
that  thoroughly  answered  its  warranty;  and  that  was  a 
cyclone.  You  must  remember  that,  being  an  indifferent 
sailor  at  all  times,  I  was  just  then  in  a  state  of  mortal  fear." 

Now,  the  man  who  thus  expressed  himself  was  of  a 
temper  neither  somber  nor  sanguine ;  not  given  to  phi- 
losophy— cynical  or  otherwise;  but  one  who  went  his 
way  about  the  world  in  a  quiet  Odvssean  fashion ;  taking 

(9) 


10  BREAKING   A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

the  rough  and  the  smooth  as  they  came,  and  keeping,  so 
far  as  I  know,  his  heart  whole  and  his  digestion  unim- 
paired. 

Most  of  us — putting  cases  of  exceptional  luck  aside — 
have  thought,  or  will  think,  nearly  the  same.  The  mount- 
ain is  lofty,  yet  not  quite  so  stupendous — the  river  is  ro- 
mantic, yet  winds  not  quite  so  picturesquely — the  face  is 
fair,  yet  not  quite  so  lovely — as  had  been  set  forth  by 
fancy  or  word-painting.  In  the  after-time  we  may  come 
to  dwell  in  the  shadow  of  that  same  mountain,  and  wax 
so  jealous  of  its  honor  that  we  shall  scarce  allow  there  is 
its  peer  among  the  everlasting  hills ;  we  may  float  on 
that  same  river  till  we  know  and  love  every  rippling  eddy 
and  quiet  pool,  and  swear  that  there  flows  seawards  no 
pleasanter  stream;  we  may  look  on  that  same  face  till 
we  are  ready  to  maintain  against  all  comers  its  sover- 
eignty in  beauty.  But,  if  we  go  back  honestly  to  our 
first  impression  of  any  wonder  of  nature  or  art  that  we 
have  approached  with  expectation  on  the  strain,  we  shall 
remember  a  faint  reaction,  like  the  slackening  of  a  damped 
chord. 

In  the  commonplace  amusements  and  pleasures  of  life 
the  apothegm  holds  specially  good.  Indeed,  when  some 
five  hundred  people,  of  different  ages  or  sexes,  attend  any 
entertainment  whatever  that  has  been  announced  with  a 
certain  flourish  of  trumpets,  the  odds  against  some  few 
of  the  number  coming  away  disappointed  are  such  as 
would  puzzle  Mr.  Babbage,  or  the  subtlest  in  the  Ring, 
to  compute. 

On  these  premises  it  would  seem  a  fact  not  less  worthy 
of  record  than  many  set  down  in  the  Annual  Regi^tfr. 
that  the  first  ball  given  at  Nithsdale  House,  after  the 
bride  was  brought  home,  was  pronounced  a  thorough 
success  by  each  and  every  one  who  assisted  thereat,  from 
the  royal  Personage  who,  with  infinite  grace  and  agility, 
opened  the  first  quadrille,  down  to  the  linkman  without, 
who,  with  a  hoarse  and  unctuous  blessing,  sped  the  very 
last  of  the  parting  guests. 

The  host  himself  would  scarcely  have  claimed  any 
share  in  the  social  triumph.  Hugh,  tenth  Earl  of  Nitli*- 
dale,  was  a  grave,  gentle  person,  now  somewhat  past 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  \\ 

middle  age.  He  did  not  shine  in  ordinary  conversation — 
though  he  could  speak  sensibly  enough  at  need  from  his 
place  in  the  House — and  was  too  shy  to  be  a  general  fa- 
vorite. Nevertheless,  few  were  better  loved  or  esteemed 
by  such  as  knew  him  thoroughly.  In  bis  nature  there 
was  not  an  atom  of  arrogance  or  self-assertion ;  but  he 
was  thoroughly  imbued  with  the  pride  of  caste,  being 
more  careful  of  the  obligations  than  of  the  privileges  of 
his  order.  From  his  youth  upwards  he  had  striven,  in 
bis  own  quiet  fashion,  to  the  uttermost  of  his  power  and 
light,  to  discharge  his  duty  both  to  God  and  to  his  neigh- 
bor ;  and  kept  the  fifth  not  less  religiously  than  the  other 
commandments.  So  when  his  mother — widow  of  the 
ninth  Earl — found  a  helpmeet  for  her  son  soon  after  he 
came  of  age,  Nithsdale  showed  no  signs  of  rebellion  or 
reluctance ;  though  the  damsel  was  something  hard  of 
feature  and  meager  of  frame,  and,  to  say  the  least  of  it, 
acidulated  in  temper.  But  then  she  was  of  stainless  de- 
scent, and  had  wealth  enough  to  parcel-gild  richly  a  faded 
coronet. 

For  many  years  that  couple  plodded  on  together,  peace- 
fully if  not  happily.  Indeed,  after  they  had  once  settled 
down  into  their  places  there  was  little  chance  of  domestic 
jars :  fretfulness  was  simply  wasted  on  Nithsdale's  grave, 
placid  temperament ;  and  for  domestic  jealousy  neither 
gave  cause.  The  earl  never — so  far  as  the  nearest  of 
his  intimates  knew — suffered  his  fancy  to  wander  beyond 
bounds ;  and  the  countess  carried  down  to  her  grave  a 
virtue  absolutely  unsullied. 

There  was  born  of  this  marriage  only  one  sickly  boy, 
who  died  in  infancy.  The  lack  of  an  heir  perhaps  troubled 
Nithsdale  more  than  he  cared  to  confess,  even  to  himself; 
to  such  as  are  free  from  all  taint  of  avarice,  it  is  weary 
work  laying  up  riches  without  knowing  who  shall  gather 
them.  Nevertheless,  he  slackened  not  a  whit  in  the  skill 
and  care  that  he  had  displayed  since  he  came  of  age  in 
administering  a  vast  encumbered  patrimony  ;  mortgage 
after  mortgage  was  cleaved  off,  acre  after  acre  drained, 
farmstead  after  farmstead  repaired,  till  the  great  Niths- 
dale estates  not  only  were  set  free  of  burden,  but  in  such 
order  as  to  become  an  agricultural  ensample  far  and  near. 


12  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

When  he  was  left  a  widower,  Hugh  of  Nithsdale  felt 
his  bereavement  heavily.  He  had  never  himself  cared 
for  country  sports,  though  he  took  care  to  provide  them 
plentifully  for  his  guests ;  his  own  relaxations  were  chiefly 
sedentary,  of  mildly  scientific  kind ;  so  that  most  of  his 
time  was  spent  within-doors.  Naturally,  the  absence 
even  of  that  hard-featured  face  and  spare  angular  figure 
made  a  dreary  blank,  both  at  fireside  and  board-head ;  and 
just  as  naturally,  after  a  decent  interval,  the  earl  began 
to  reflect  how  that  blank  should  be  filled. 

Perhaps  he  had  never  absolutely  regretted  the  first  al- 
liance; yet  he  may  have  considered  that  in  contracting  it 
he  had  discharged  all  his  duty  to  his  house  ;  and  he  de- 
termined, in  wiving  again,  to  please  only  his  own  fancy. 
Moreover,  there  was  no  privy-councilor,  to  insist  on  state- 
policy  and  the  like,  since  his  lady-mother  went  to  her  rest. 

The  union  of  January  and  May  is  so  common  nowa- 
days that  no  one  thinks  of  inditing  epithalamia  thereon, 
satiric  or  otherwise.  Nevertheless  there  was  a  certain 
stir  of  wonderment  in  the  great  world  when  it  became 
noised  abroad  that  Lady  Rose  Marston  was  to  be  the 
second  Countess  of  Nithsdale.  In  truth,  there  were  dis- 
parities betwixt  the  affianced  pair  seemingly  more  serious 
than  that  of  age,  though  the  bride  was  barely  in  her 
twentieth  year. 

She  came  of  rather  a  wild  stock,  and  her  bringing-up 
had  been  none  of  the  staidest.  Her  mother,  Viscountess 
Daventry,  once  a  famous  beauty,  had  not  ceased  to  be 
dangerous  and  enterprising;  and  her  father,  though  too 
lazy  to  be  vicious,  had  never  cared  himself  to  practice 
any  virtue,  domestic  or  otherwise,  and  devoted  all  the 
energy  he  could  muster  to  the  mismanagement  of  his 
racing-stable,  taking  no  thought  as  to  the  training  of  his 
olive-branches.  From  him  the  Lady  Rose  inherited  the 
long,  sleepy  brown  eyes  that  never  grew  eager  or  troubled 
when  a  race  on  which  a  year's  income  hung  was  being 
won  or  lost  by  the  shortest  of  heads ;  and  the  soft,  rich 
auburn  hair,  the  envy  of  Lord  Daventry's  bald  or  grizzled 
compeers.  There  was  much  beauty  in  her  face,  but  of 
the  stillest,  quietest  kind ;  and  it  might  have  been  inani- 
mate but  for  the  perfect  little  mouth,  which,  smiling  often, 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLfE'S  ENDING.  13 

smiled  never  unmeaningly.  She  was  not  particularly 
clever,  and  not  a  whit  ambitious;  hereditary  indolence 
would  have  prompted  her  to  glide  listlessly  down  the 
social  stream,  accepting  such  flowers  as  floated  into  her 
hands,  yet  not  straining  after  such  as  grew  out  of  her 
reach.  But,  early  in  her  first  season,  a  large  mixed  jury 
of  natives  and  foreigners  pronounced  Lady  Rose  Mars- 
ton  one  of  the  best  valseuses  in  Europe. 

In  these  days,  most  demoiselles  endowed  with  lithe, 
light  figures,  and  a  fair  ear  for  music,  dance — as  our  fore- 
fathers would  have  said — more  or  less  "divinely;"  so 
that  one  should  be  singled  out  and  set  above  her  sisters, 
involves  some  marked  peculiarity.  And  Rose  Marston's 
waltzing  was  very  peculiar.  However  rapid  the  whirl, 
she  never  lost  the  languid  grace  that  distinguished  her  in 
repose.  But  all  the  while  a  practiced  eye,  to  say  nothing 
of  a  practiced  arm,  could  detect,  in  all  her  movements,  a 
latent  energy  and  suppressed  power.  Men  found  they 
could  go  on  longer  with  Lady  Rose  without  feeling  the 
exertion  than  with  any  other;  as  for  tiring  her — a  month 
after  she  was  presented  there  was  no  question  of  such  a 
thing. 

"She's  always  going  so  thoroughly  within  herself," 
Regy  Avenel  remarked  ;  "  that's  about  the  secret  of  it." 

His  opinion  in  these  matters  was  worth  having;  for 
he  was  the  crack  cotillon-leader  of  that  year. 

Every  man  or  woman  who  has  a  reputation  to  keep  up, 
however  flimsy  or  trivial,  has  a  certain  object  and  interest 
in  life;  and,  after  all,  there  seems  no  reason  why  there 
should  not  be  choregraphicas  well  as  athletic  champions. 
The  girl  became  imbued  with  a  kind  of  artistic  enthusi- 
asm, and  looked  forward  to  her  balls  as  a  successful  actress 
looks  forward  to  her  scenic  triumphs.  She  was  too  lazy, 
perhaps  too  frank,  ever  thoroughly  to  flirt ;  yet  she  would 
do  much  in  an  innocent  way  to  win  or  retain  an  eligible 
partner,  and  was  not  niggardly  of  looks,  words,  or  smiles, 
in  rewarding  her  special  favorites.  These  were  found  nut  u- 
rally  enough  in  a  fast,  though  not  a  very  vicious,  set. 
They  were  too  young,  for  the  most  part,  to  be  thoroughly 
depraved;  for  among  Lady  Rose's  attaches  there  was 
scarce  one  whose  beard  was  fairly  grown. 

2 


14  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

Nevertheless,  certain  matrons,  and  maids  whose 
"  snoods"  had  lost  their  gloss,  looked  askance  as  she 
passed  by,  whispering  bitter  words  ;  even  as  Rebecca,  on 
the  day  after  she  cheated  her  first-born  of  his  birthright, 
may  have  wagged  her  head,  and  scowled  from  under  her 
brows,  at  some  laughing  daughter  of  Heth. 

Whatever  may  have  been  her  temptations,  the  Lady 
Rose  must  have  kept  herself  heart-whole,  if  not  quite 
fancy-free.  When  she  first  heard  of  Lord  Nithsdale  as  a 
suitor,  she  showed  no  signs  of  repugnance  or  terror,  but 
said  placidly  to  her  mother  that  she  liked  him  as  well  as 
she  liked  any  one  else ;  and  she  was  sure  he  would  be  kind 
to  her.  Speaking  on  the  subject  to  the  most  intimate  of 
her  male  and  female  friends,  she  consistently  declined  to 
be  looked  on  as  a  martyr.  It  was  true  that  she  had  known 
the  earl  from  childhood  upward ;  for  one  of  bis  diverse 
estates,  on  which  he  had  of  late  resided  frequently, 
marched  with  her  father's  property  at  Daventry  Court. 

Perhaps,  among  their  mutual  acquaintance,  more  pity 
was  felt  for  the  bridegroom  than  for  the  bride ;  though 
none  of  these  amicable  impertinences  were  expressed 
aloud.  Despite  his  homely  bearing  and  quiet  manner, 
none,  gentle  or  simple,  dreamed  of  taking  liberties  with 
Hugh  of  Nithsdale ;  and  pity,  real  or  feigned,  was  utterly 
uncalled  for  ' 

The  earl  had  no  mind  to  cage  or  clip  the  wings  of  the 
beautiful  bird  that  had  perched  so  willingly  on  his 
shoulder,  and  knew  right  well  he  could  trust  her  not  to 
range  too  far.  Though  there  was  no  verbal  compact, 
Lady  Rose  understood  that  she  was  free  to  follow  her 
own  inclinations  in  any  reasonable  way;  that  she  was 
still  free  to  indulge  her  own  taste,  to  plan  and  carry  out 
her  own  amusement,  and  to  gather  her  own  friends  round 
her,  when  and  where  she  would.  It  was  a  very  blithe 
bridal ;  and  when  the  honeymoon  had  waned,  the  bride 
did  not  scruple  to  confess,  to  whom  it  might  concern, 
that  she  was  perfectly — I  believe  her  own  words  were 
"  awfully" — happy. 

In  the  shape  of  this  same  ball,  her  first  matronly  anx- 
iety came  upon  her.  The  ordinary  cares  of  preparation 
troubled  her  not  a  whit;  she  left  all  such  things  in  per- 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIKS  ENDING.  15 

feet  confidence  to  her  housekeeper  and  house-steward, 
and  to  the  tradesmen,  whom  she  had  learned  to  look 
upon  as  trusty  Slaves  of  the  Ring.  Neither  was  she 
nervous;  though  she  would  have  to  play  hostess  for  the 
first  time  before  a  critical  audience,  and  in  presence  of 
royalty.  She  had  other  causes  of  disquietude ;  and  these 
were  solemnly  discussed  one  day  at  luncheon  by  a  council 
of  three,  whereat  assisted  her  mother  and  Reginald 
Avenel  of  choragic  fame.  The  chiefest  trouble,  as  may 
be  imagined,  was  the  revision  of  the  invitation  cards. 

The  countess  had  set  her  delicate  foot  down  on  one 
point — that,  come  what  would,  her  first  ball  should  not 
be  overcrowded — a  just  and  pleasant  resolve,  but  not  so 
easily  carried  out  in  the  face  of  a  visiting-list  of  portentous 
dimensions,  when  people  congregated  from  the  uttermost 
parts  of  the  earth  for  the  express  purpose  of  showing 
themselves — if  they  had  the  chance,— on  that  especial 
night  at  Nithsdale  House.  The  worst  of  it  was,  that 
friends,  who  had  made  their  own  election  sure,  declined 
to  be  content  therewith,  and  persisted  in  pleading  for 
others  who  seemed  likely  to  be  left  in  the  outer  dark- 
ness. Lady  Nithsdale  was  at  her  wits'  end.  She  had 
calculated,  by  the  help  of  some  cunning  in  such  matters, 
how  many  her  rooms  would  hold  comfortably;  and  she 
was  on  the  very  verge  of  such  a  limit  now.  Yet  still 
the  letters  came  pouring  in,  and  her  carriage  could  not 
halt  for  five  minutes  in  the  Mile,  without  being  beset  by 
petitioners.  She  was  too  good-natured  to  like  vexing 
anybody,  and  too  wise  in  her  simple  way  to  make  need- 
less enemies  thus  early  in  her  career.  Even  while  she 
sat  at  luncheon  two  notes  were  brought  in,  of  which  she 
guessed  the  import  so  soon  as  she  glanced  at  the  mono- 
grams. 

"  One  can't  even  eat  a  poor  little  plover's  egg  in  peace," 
the  countess  said,  pouting.  "I  declare  it's  a  thousand 
times  worse  than  Christmas  bills!"  And  she  tore  open 
one  of  the  envelopes  quite  viciously. 

Avenel  looked  at  her  with  a  half  smile — a  little  sad 
and  a  little  envious.  He  had  been  trying  for  some  time 
now  to  make  a  younger  son's  fortune  square  with  expen- 
sive tastes,  and  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  there  are 


16  BREAKING  A    BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

not  many  things  worse  than  Christmas  bills,  when  the 
patience  of  creditors  waxes  threadbare. 

The  first  note  contained  only  one  of  the  ordinary  peti- 
tions; for  the  countess  threw  it  carelessly  across  to  her 
mother,  after  a  glance  at  its  contents,  saying, — 

"  Lady  Blakeston  wants  to  bring  that  plain  prim  niece. 
Quite  impossible,  isn't  it,  mamma?  What  can  M.  de 
Fonteyrac  want?"  she  went  on,  as  she  opened  the  other 
envelope.  "All  the  embassy,  except  those  two  who 
don't  dance,  have  got  cards  already." 

But  the  second  note  seemed  to  touch  the  countess  more 
narrowly ;  and,  as  she  passed  it  to  Avenel,  she  clasped 
her  hands  in  comic  despair. 

Yet  there  was  nothing  very  alarming  on  the  face  of  the 
document,  couched  in  the  courtliest  of  diplomatic  styles. 
Therein  M.  de  Fonteyrac,  referring  himself  to  the  angelic 
goodness  of  Madame  la  Comtesse,  prayed  permission 
to  bring  with  him  to  her  ball  his  especial  friend  Gaspard 
de  Sauterel. 

Now,  Lady  Nithsdale,  as  you  know,  was,  in  a  certain 
way,  imbued  with  an  artistic  spirit;  and  all  real  artists 
are  more  nervous  in  exhibiting  before  a  single  maestro 
than  before  five  hundred  cognoscenti.  Gaspard,  Marquis 
de  Sauterel,  was  a  European  celebrity.  Filling  a  high 
post  at  the  Imperial  court,  he  held  another  office,  quite 
as  well  recognized  and  defined,  though  betokened  by  no 
outward  insignia.  For  the  last  four  seasons  he  had 
reigned  without  a  rival  over  Parisian  cotillons.  The 
haughtiest  of  the  female  noblesse  altered  the  date  of  their 
entertainments  to  insure  his  presence;  and  the  lightest 
feet  in  France  were  only  too  proud  to  follow  in  his 
wake. 

"Oh,  Regy,  what  is  to  be  done?"  the  countess  asked, 
half  pettishly.  "  Something  is  sure  to  go  wrong ;  and, 
then,  can't  you  fancy  his  going  back  to  Paris  and  talk- 
ing compassionately  about  insular  ambition?" 

Before  he  answered,  Avenel  finished  slowly  a  goblet 
of  weak  claret-cup.  He  was  very  temperate,  both  in  food 
and  drink — training,  so  to  speak,  for  his  work — and  from 
mere  condition  would  have  run  into  a  place  in  any  ordi- 
nary two-mile  handicap.  .  Then  he  read  the  note  through 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  17 

carefully,  lifting  his  brows  :  he  was  not  a  handsome  man, 
but  his  eyebrows  were  unexceptionable,  and  he  made  play 
with  them  accordingly. 

"  Don't  you  flurry  yourself,  Lady  Rose"  (to  the  Countess 
of  Nithsdale's  intimates  her  maiden  name  seemed  to  come 
always  most  naturally) ;  "  we're  not  beat  yet,  and  I  don't 
see  why  we  should  be,  either.  De  Sauterel  isn't  running 
in  his  old  form,  so  Dolly  Forester  says,  and  he  ought  to 
know,  for  there  never  was  more  than  seven  pounds  be- 
tween 'em.  Baccarat  after  balls,  and  absinthe  before 
breakfast,  are  beginning  to  tell.  The  marquis  is  as  quick 
on  his  legs  as  ever ;  but,  I  hear,  he  can't  stay." 

What  might  have  been  a  dark  speech  to  others  was 
intelligible  enough  to  his  hearer.  Turf  metaphors  were 
scarce  likely  to  offend  the  ears  of  Lord  Daventry's  daugh- 
ter. Her  sweet  face  cleared  somewhat,  though  doubt  still 
lingered  there. 

"Besides,"  Avenel  went  on,  placidly,  "it's  very  easy 
to  make  things  quite  safe.  Why  don't  you  let  De  Sau- 
terel lead  in  his  own  fashion?  He  can't  find  fault  then. 
Don't  mind  me  ;  I'll  abdicate  with  pleasure.  I've  always 
said  my  life  is  one  long  self-sacrifice." 

Rose  Marston  by  many  of  her  acquaintances  was  called 
capricious  and  fickle — and  not  without  reason.  Her  pref- 
erences were  often  wonderfully  short-lived,  and  the  first 
favorite  of  one  night  would  become  the  extremest  outsider 
the  next.  Indeed,  sometimes  after  supper  her  card  became 
so  terribly  involved  that  she  was  forced,  so  to  speak,  to 
take  the  benefit  of  the  Act,  and  start  afresh  ;  paying  her 
creditors  nothing  whatever  in  the  pound.  But  in  her  real 
friendships  she  was  stanch  as  steel.  She  had  known  Re- 
ginald Avenel  long  before  she  came  out,  and  had  always 
looked  upon  him  as  one  of  the  family — their  ancestors  had 
been  related  in  some  very  remote  age :  it  was  strange,  but 
perfectly  true,  that  their  cousinly  familiarity  had  never 
ripened  into  the  cousinly  flirtation  which  is  almost  de 
rigueur. 

"  Don't  be  so  utterly  absurd,  Regy,"  she  said,  with  a 
flush  on  her  cheek  and  a  flash  in  her  lazy  brown  eyes. 
"Throwing  one's  old  friends  over  for  people  one  has 
never  seen,  isn't  the  way  to  bring  luck  about  the  house. 

2*- 


18  BREAKING  A  BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

If  you  say  two  words  more,  I  shall  think  you  want  to 
change  me  for  the  Firefly;  I  always  thought  her  step 
suited  you  best." 

He  held  up  his  hand  in  deprecation. 

"L'Empire,  c'est  la  Paix,  Lady  Rose.  So  said  a 
greater  than  De  Sauterel.  Always  remember  that,  be- 
fore you  begin  to  quarrel.  If  your  majesty  won't  accept 
our  resignation,  it's  easily  withdrawn.  We'll  pull  through 
somehow,  never  fear.  Only  don't  fret  any  more  about 
these  things.  You're  beginning  to  look  quite  fagged 
already." 

Lady  Daventry  was  in  no  sort  of  way  a  model  of 
matronhood ;  but  she  was  foolishly  fond  of  her  children, 
and  specially  of  this,  her  eldest-born  daughter.  She  was 
a  better  listener  than  talker,  and  up  to  this  time  had  taken 
little  part  in  the  family  council ;  but  she  got  up  now,  and 
wound  her  arm  around  her  daughter's  neck  caressingly. 

"Regy  is  quite  right,  darling," she  said;  "you  mustn't 
fret,  and  there's  no  earthly  reason  for  it.  I  saw  a  good 
deal  of  M.  de  Sauterel  last  year  in  Paris.  There's  not  a 
more  good-natured  little  creature  alive ;  and,  if  he  were 
given  to  fault-finding,  he  would  scarcely  practice  it  here." 
Lady  Daventry's  smile  was  full  of  memorial  meaning. 
"  I'll  take  care  that  everybody  knows  to-day  that  your 
list  is  full ;  so  you  shall  be  bored  with  no  more  begging 
letters.  That's  settled." 

Then  the  conclave  broke  up. 

Is  it  likely  that,  in  this  hard  workday  world,  many 
should  be  found  who  could  throw  themselves  seriously 
into  a  discussion  frivolous  as  that  set  down  here  ?  Truly, 
I  know  not.  The  statesmen's  plans  probably  were  no  less 
deep,  the  swords  of  soldiers  no  less  sharp,  the  quibbles 
of  lawyers  no  less  astute,  the  song  of  poets  no  less  niusi- 
cal,  the  lash  of  critics  no  less  sharp,  in  Liliput  than  in 
Brobdingnag.  Insects,  as  well  as  caruivora,  are  integral 
parts  of  creation  ;  and  Ephemeris,  setting  things  in  order 
for  her  bloodless  banquet,  has  cares  just  as  real,  though 
less  truculent  than  those  of  Megatherium,  who  shakes 
the  forest-land  with  his  roaring  as  he  seeks  his  meat  from 
God. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  19 


CHAPTER  II. 

So  Lady  Nithsdale's  ball  was  a  success — teres  atque 
rotundus — without  a  single  flaw.  The  Dieu  de  la  Danse 
was  thoroughly  propitious,  sanctioning  everything  and 
everybody  with  the  benignest  of  smiles,  and  before  day- 
break became  the  merest  mortal  in  his  readiness  to  lay 
down  his  divinity  at  a  mortal's  feet.  Indeed,  when  Gas- 
pard  de  Sauterel  returned  to  his  own  place,  he  created 
great  scandal  and  discontent  among  the  faithful  beyond 
the  seas  by  what  they  were  pleased  to  call  his  Anglo- 
mania. It  was  months  before  he  ceased  to  rave  about 
Lady  Nithsdale's  waltzing,  which  he  was  wont  to  char- 
acterize as  "a  poesy." 

But  no  triumph  can  last  forever:  so  Lady  Nithsdale's 
ball  was  over  at  last.  Carriage  after  carriage  drove 
away  with  its  cloaked  and  hooded  freight ;  while  the 
men  for  the  most  part  strolled  off  by  twos  and  threes 
through  the  fresh  spring  morning.  But  only  one 
brougham  we  need  follow.  In  it  sat  two  women,  both 
fair  to  look  upon,  though  neither  was  in  her  very  first 
youth,  and  their  beauty,  such  as  it  was,  differed  essen- 
tially in  style. 

The  first  thing  which  you  would  probably  have  re- 
marked was,  how  wonderfully  both  faces  stood  that 
trying  after-dawn  light,  under  which  few  damsels,  even 
in  their  first  season,  willingly  linger.  It  only  seemed  to 
soften  becomingly  the  exceeding  brilliancy  of  Laura 
Brancepeth's  coloring ;  and  it  did.  not  bring  out  a  line 
or  deepen  a  shadow  on  Blanche  Ellerslie's  cheeks — soft, 
smooth,  and  white  as  the  leaves  of  a  tropical  lily. 

On  neither  countenance  was  there  trace  of  weariness  ; 
and  they  were  not  too  sleepy,  it  seemed,  for  a  little  quiet 
talk,  opened  by  Lady  Laura  Brancepeth — better  known 
in  her  own  set  as  "  La  Reine  Gaillarde." 

"Thoroughly  well  done,  wasn't  it,  Blanche?  The 
rooms  just  full  enough  to  look  their  best,  and  not  a  parti- 


20  BREAKING  A    BUTTERFLY;     OR, 

cle  of  heat  or  crowd.  Anne  Daventry  has  a  specialty  for 
these  things,  when  she  will  only  give  herself  the  trouble. 
Those  leaf-screens  round  the  fountains  in  the  conservatory 
were  the  prettiest  things  I  ever  saw;  and  you  admired 
them  even  more  than  I,  apparently,  for  you  spent  about 
half  the  night  there.  By-the-by,  that  reminds  me — I 
should  just  like  to  know  where  you  were  all  the  cotil- 
lon? I  missed  you  after  the  first  figure." 

"I  was  tired,"  Mrs.  Ellerslie  answered  "I  should 
certainly  have  got  one  of  my  headaches  if  I  had  gone  on : 
you  know  what  my  headaches  are  ?  The  fact  is,  I  am 
going  down  fast  into  the  vale  of  years ;  after  this  season, 
I  don't  mean  to  waltz  any  more." 

Few  and  faint  were  the  signs  of  age  on  the  delicate 
face  just  then,  and  so  Laura  Brancepeth  thought,  as  she 
gazed  at  her  companion  with  a  mischievous  flash  in  her 
broad,  black  eyes. 

"  Yes  :  I  know  what  your  headaches  are,  and  how  they 
come  and  go,  and  how  easily  tired  you  are  sometimes. 
As  for  that  excuse  about  your  age,  I  consider  it  positively 
rude.  I'm  two  years  older  than  you  are,  but  I've  no 
idea  of  wall-flowering  just  yet.  You  wicked  little  come- 
dienne! I  never  saw  you  act  better  than  you  did  to- 
night; you  know  very  well  you  only  slipped  away  to 
take  another  long  lesson  in  botany  from  Mark  Ramsay. 
Why,  Blanche — is  it  possible  ?  I  can't  believe  it :  you're 
actually  blushing!" 

If  an  aurora  borealis  had  blazed  fprth  suddenly  in  the 
clear  gray  sky  above  them,  Lady  Laura  could  not  have 
spoken  with  more  astonishment.  She  was,  in  truth,  look- 
ing on  a  natural  phenomenon.  The  practiced  coquette 
was  no  more  likely  to  betray  signs  of  discomfiture  at  tho 
mention  of  any  ordinary  name  than  a  charger  is  likely  to 
start  at  a  pistol-shot.  Yet  there  was  no  mistake  about 
the  tell-tale  flush — rather  deepening  than  fading  under  the 
other's  searching  gaze. 

"  Oh,  Blanche !  Was  it  not  acting  then,  after  all  ?"  Lady 
Laura  went  on,  in  quite  a  changed  tone,  and  the  mockery 
died  out  of  her  eyes.  "  You  can't  mean  that  you  have 
been  in  earnest  to-night.  The  worst  of  your  flirtations 
would  be  better  than  such  fearful  folly." 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  21 

Mrs.  Ellerslie's  look  of  injured  innocence  was  scarcely . 
so  successful  as  usual. 

"You  are  too  tyrannical,  Queenie,"  she  said,  plain- 
tively ;  "  there's  no  possibility  of  contenting  you.  Well, 
allowing  that  you  are  right  in  your  suspicion — which  I 
don't — is  it  not  better  to  be  foolish  once  in  a  way  than 
wicked  always?" 

But  the  other  was  not  to  be  put  off  with  a  jest. 

"  I  am  quite  serious,"  she  said.  "  You  and  I  are  very 
old  friends,  fast  friends  too,  though  you'd  provoke  a  saint 
sometimes,  and  I  own  I'm  rather  apt  to  bully  you.  Though 
I  often  tease  you  about  men,  I  never  really  pity  them 
much.  But  I  should  pity  you  awfully  if  you  came  to 
grief;  and  I'd  sooner  hear  of  your  breaking  half  a  dozen 
honest  hearts  than  giving  the  least  bit  of  yours  to  Mark 
Ramsay." 

"  What  fresh  story  have  you  heard  against  him  ?" 

The  low  voice  was  quite  steady ;  but  the* down  trim- 
ming fluttered,  though  there  was  no  breeze  to  stir  it. 

"  Are  not  the  old  ones  enough  ?"  the  other  answered, 
gravely.  "If  I  had  never  heard  a  single  word  against 
him,  I  should  take  warning  from  his  face ;  wonderfully 
handsome,  I  allow,  and  gentle  too,  when  he  chooses  to  let 
it  soften.  But  when  it  is  in  repose,  I  think  it  the  cruelest 
face  I  ever  looked  upon.  It  would  be  rather  nice  to  be 
lorded  over  by  some  people,  I  know ;  but  I  don't  like  to 
think  of  any  woman  as  that  man's  slave.  And  slave  she 
would  be ;  depend  upon  it,  there  would  be  no  half-meas- 
ures there." 

Blanche  laughed,  quite  naturally  now. 

"  What  a  vampire  you  have  made  of  poor  Mr.  Ramsa}r ! 
If  you  knew  him  better,  perhaps  you  wouldn't  think  him 
so  fatal  in  any  way.  It's  rather  refreshing  to  talk  to  him, 
after  the  platitudes  one  has  to  listen  to  as  a  rule ;  though 
he  neither  talks  politics  nor  scandal,  and  doesn't  seem  to 
consider  flirting  a  matter  of  absolute  duty.  But — so  far — 
Queeuie,  he  has  done  me  no  harm." 

Neither  capitals  nor  italics,  nor  any  other  device  of 
type,  could  do  justice  to  Blanche  Ellerslie's  "me."  £uf 
issuing  from  the  tenderest  lips  that  have  murmured  love- 
whispers  in  Rhine-laud,  never  sounded  half  so  cosy  and 


22  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

caressing.  Very  few  men  heard  it  for  the  first  time, 
without  feeling  a  new  sympathy  awaking  within  them, 
and  a  kind  of  prescience  that  some  confidence  was  com- 
ing. 

Lady  Laura's  wiry  night-slaves  scuffled  over  the  ground 
quicker  than  the  best  pair  of  steppers  in  town ;  and  they 
were  so  nearly  at  home  now,  that  she  had  only  time  to 
say,— 

"  I'm  too  sleepy  to  go  on  preaching ;  only,  Blanche,  do 
pray  take  care." 

So  the  two  women  embraced,  and  parted  for  the  night. 

With  a  sinful  indifference  to  beauty-sleep,  Mrs.  Ellers- 
lie  sat  musing  long  after  her  maid  had  left  her.  Self-ex- 
amination was  not  much  in  her  line  ;  but  in  the  solitude 
of  her  own  chamber  she  did  not  affirm  to  herself  quite  so 
confidently  as  she  had  done  to  Laura  Brancepeth,  that 
"  no  harm  has  been  done  to  me." 


CHAPTER  III. 

Now,  what  manner  of  man  was  he  whose  name  had 
made  Blanche  Ellerslie  flush  and  flutter  like  a  girl,  and 
the  reckless  Heine  Gaillarde  earnest  in  warning  ? 

Not  a  wonder  in  any  way.  Yet  one  who  would  cer- 
tainly have  achieved  some  notable  success  in  life,  if  ho 
had  turned  to  any  account  his  gifts  and  chances. 

Mark  Ramsay  came  of  an  ancient  Scots  house  that 
had  once  been  very  powerful  in  the  Lowlands,  but  whose 
fortunes  had  ebbed  steadily  for  centuries,  and  rapidly  at 
last,  till  the  present  generation  was  well-nigh  stranded. 
Instead  of  having  a  voice  in  the  councils  of  the  realm, 
Ramsay  of  Kilmains  could  scarce  get  hearing  at  petty 
sessions ;  out  of  demesnes  vast  and  fertile,  there  were 
left  now  only  a  few  hundred  acres  of  poor,  hungry  land 
round  a  hideous  red-brick  barrack,  tacked  on  to  a  gaunt, 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  23 

gray  peel-tower ;  and  of  all  the  wealth  amassed  by  wrong 
and  rapine  there  was  not  enough  left  to  keep  a  creditable 
balance  at  the  county  bank. 

The  family  met  with  singularly  little  sympathy  in 
their  downward  career.  From  time  immemorial  these 
Ramsays  had  been  hard,  despotic  tyrants,  apt  to  oppress 
the  poor  and  needy,  whether  vassals  or  neighbors,  and 
only  lavish  of  their  gold  when  it  was  a  question  of  selfish 
vice.  The  present  Laird  of  Kilmains,  Mark's  father,  was 
quite  as  unpopular  as  any  of  his  ancestors,  though  he 
had  been  guilty  of  none  of  the  excesses  for  which  they 
had  been  evilly  renowned;  being,  indeed,  exceeding 
miserly  in  his  habits,  and  in  religion  a  gloomy  fanatic. 
Though  he  looked  so  keenly  and  carefully  after  the  pence, 
the  pounds,  somehow,  took  to  themselves  wings,  and 
flitted  one  by  one  out  of  his  covetous  fingers.  He  had 
an  unhappy  turn  for  small  speculations,  and  each  of 
these  seemed  fated  to  prove  more  or  less  unprofitable ; 
so  that,  after  pinching  and  saving  for  a  score  of  years, 
he  found  himself  rather  poorer  than  when  he  came  into 
his  heritage.  Ill  luck  may  have  done  much  to  embitter 
a  temper  naturally  morose  and. sullen;  but  certainly 
among  all  his  forbears  there  was  not  found  a  more 
thorough  tyrant,  though  his  tyranny,  perforce,  was  on  a 
petty  scale.  A  hard  master,  a  merciless  landlord,  an 
austere  father,  and  a  brutal  husband — though  of  actual 
violence  he  was  never  guilty — he  seldom  lost  a  chance  of 
vexing  any  living  thing  that  could  safely  be  oppressed. 

Two  children  were  the  issue  of  a  most  unhappy  mar- 
riage ;  and  Marcia  Ramsay  went  to  her  rest — gladly 
enough,  no  doubt — within  a  month  after  Mark's  birth. 

The  heir  of  Kilmains,  both  outwardly  and  inwardly, 
very  much  resembled  his  father:  perhaps  for  this  reason 
the  two  got  on  well  enough  together,  in  a  sort  of  way. 
From  his  boyhood  upwards,  Gilbert  Ramsay  had  always 
yielded  to  dictation,  however  unreasonable,  a  stolid  acqui- 
escence with  which  it  was  next  to  impossible  to  quarrel ; 
and  when  he  grew  up  to  manhood,  from  mere  force  of 
habit  he  continued  docile,  with  occasional  fits  of  the 
sullens,  that  never  opened  into  ripe  revolt.  All  this  the 
elder  man  accepted  ungraciously,  as  his  mere  due ;  yet  it 


24  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

is  certain  that  he  liked  his  first-born  better  than  he  likeJ 
any  other  creature. 

With  Mark  it  was  very  different.  To  say  that  "  there 
was  no  love  lost "  betwixt  the  two  does  not  at  all  express 
it.  There  was  positive  antipathy.  Kilmains  hated  his 
second  son  almost  from  his  birth ;  he  hated  him  for  the 
haughty  beauty  that  always  reminded  him  of  the  woman 
whose  spirit  he  never  could  cow,  though  he  broke  her 
heart,  and  who  died  long  before  she  was  tamed.  Mark's 
mouth  and  eyes  were  the  counterparts  of  his  mother's; 
and  James  Kamsay's  violence  of  word  or  deed  was  soon 
met  over  again  by  the  same  disdainful  smile  and  glance 
of  cool  defiance  that  had  often  galled  him  in  the  old  days. 
He  would  never  own  it  to  himself,  but  it  was  quite  true 
that  he  never  felt  thoroughly  easy  in  the  boy's  presence. 
He  hated  him  for  this ;  he  hated  him  worst  of  all  because, 
before  Mark  was  ten  years  old,  he  was  made  virtually 
independent  of  his  father. 

When  Duncan  Cameron  came  back  with  a  fair  fortune 
from  the  East,  where  all  his  youth  and  manhood  were 
passed,  almost  his  first  visit  was  to  his  favorite  sister's 
grave.  He  had  heard  enough  of  the  manner  of  her  life 
and  death  to  keep  him  from  ever  setting  foot  under  her 
husband's  roof;  and  when  he  made  his  will  in  favor  of 
her  child,  he  took  special  care  that  not  a  doit  should  be 
handled  by  the  Laird  ojf  Kilmains,  much  less  pass  into 
his  clutches. 

The  guardians  of  the  child  were  well  chosen — two 
shrewd,  sturdy,  sensible  business  men ;  ready  to  do  their 
duty  without  fear  or  favor,  and  as  little  likely  to  be  bul- 
lied as  beguiled.  If  Duncan  Cameron  had  designed  to 
work  out  a  posthumous  revenge  on  him  who  had  made 
his  sister's  life  miserable,  he  could  scarcely  have  devised 
a  more  ingenious  plan.  From  the  day  that  he  heard  the 
will  read,  to  that  on  which  Mark  attained  his  majority, 
James  Ramsay  lived  in  perpetual  fret  and  discontent. 
The  property  was  not  so  very  large — a  little  over  a 
thousand  a  year,  all  told — but  the  sum  allowed  yearly 
for  the  boy's  nurture  and  education  would  more  than 
have  discharged  all  the  household  expenses  at  Kilmains. 
Of  this,  beyond  a  meager  allowance  for  actual  mainte- 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  EXDISG.  25 

nance  whilst  Mark  lived  at  home,  the  father  could  touch 
no  part ;  for  education,  the  guardians  provided  as  it 
seemed  to  them  good. 

When  it  was  decided  to  send  Mark  to  Eton,  Ramsay 
did  make  some  show  of  resistance,  and  threw  every  possi- 
ble impediment  in  the  way ;  but  there  loomed  in  the  dis- 
tance the  terrors  of  the  High  Court  of  Chancery;  and, 
though  he  had  never  read  Sophocles,  he  knew  well 
enough  what  usually  befalls  those  who 

Hurl  themselves  violently  against  the  footstool  of  Justice. 

So  he  was  bound  to  swallow  the  bitter  pill,  and  wreak 
his  ill  humor  on  such  as  were  compelled  to  endure  it. 

Mark's  school-days  passed  very  pleasantly.  He  was  a 
great  favorite  with  his  masters  and  his  mates.  He  did 
not  show  much  energy,  either  at  work  or  play,  but  got 
through  a  sufficient  amount  of  both  creditably  enough. 
The  vacations  spent  at  Kilmains  were  terribly  dreary. 
James  Ramsay  never  lifted  his  hand  against  his  son — 
perhaps  he  feared  whither  one  act  of  violence  might  lead 
him  —  but  he  did  not  seek  to  dissemble  his  dislike. 
Though  the  boy  was  wonderfully  intrepid  by  nature, 
and  had  unhappily  grown  quite  careless  of  such  things 
as  domestic  affections,  he  could  scarcely  help  starting 
sometimes  as,  looking  up  suddenly,  he  met  those  hard, 
haggard  eyes.  His  brother  was  no  sort  of  companion 
for  him,  for  they  had  not  a  single  taste  in  common;  so  it 
was  no  marvel  if  Black  Monday  was  a  day  to  be  scored 
with  the  whitest  of  chalk  in  Mark's  calendar. 

When  he  went  to  Oxford  he  became  practically  his  own 
master ;  and  his  first  act,  of  independence  was  a  refusal  to 
spend  any  part  of  his  first  vacation  at  Kilmains.  From 
that  day  forth  he  was  no  more  under  his  father's  roof-tree  ; 
and  no  communication  by  word  or  mouth  passed  betwixt 
the  two. 

Thus  no  foundling  was  ever  more  absolutely  free  of  all 
home-ties  than  Mark  Ramsay.  How  fraught  with  dan- 
ger is  such  isolation,  all  men  know — many  to  their  cost. 
Some  hearts  there  are  of  such  rare  material  that,  under 
such  proving,  they  grow  strong  and  self-reliant,  but  never 
hard.  Mark  was  none  of  these.  His  selfishness,  such 

3 


26  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

as  it  was,  lay  not  on  the  surface,  but  deep  in  grain.  He 
did  not  object  to  benevolence  on  principle,  and  would  do 
a  good-natured  action  readily  enough,  if  it  led  him  not 
too  far  out  of  his  way ;  but  would  help  a  mere  acquaint- 
ance just  as  readily  as  an  ancient  comrade,  expecting  no 
gratitude  in  return.  If  he  had  confessed  his  real  senti- 
ments, he  would  probably  have  told  you  that  friendship 
was  a  thing  as  much  out  of  date  as  brotherhood-in-arms. 
He  was  liberal  and  hospitable  to  the  outside  limit  of  his 
means — that  his  worst  enemies  allowed — but  was  neither 
reckless  nor  prodigal.  He  was  fond  of  playing  his  part 
in  the  battle  of  life ;  and  had  no  mind  to  be  invalided  for 
lack  of  the  sinews  of  war. 

So  he  never  got  into  any  serious  money-scrape  on  his 
own  account.  As  for  involving  himself  for  another,  the  man 
was  yet  to  be  found,  confident  enough  in  his  own  persua- 
sive powers  to  ask  Mark  Ramsay  for  the  use  of  his  name. 
Nevertheless  he  was  quite  as  popular  at  Oxford  as  ho 
had  been  at  Eton ;  not  a  general  favorite,  simply  because 
he  did  not  care  to  mix  much  in  general  society ;  but  the 
men  of  his  set  swore  by  him.  His  personal  advantages 
may  have  had  much  to  do  with  this.  You  may  sermonize 
till  you  are  weary  about  these  things  being  but  skin-deep, 
and  the  rest  of  it ;  but  you  never  will  prevent  them  being 
a  passport  to  the  favor  of  men,  to  say  nothing  of  women- 
kind.  The  credentials  may  be  false,  or  forged,  of  course : 
till  their  falsity  is  proved,  they  stand. 

Mark's  beauty  was  of  a  very  rare  type — slightly  effemi- 
nate, perhaps,  but  none  the  less  attractive  for  that  An 
old  Venetian  painter  would  have  reveled  in  the  rich  soft 
coloring  of  his  hair,  eyes,  and  lips,  each  the  darkest  of 
their  several  shades  of  chestnut,  blue,  and  crimson ;  and 
all  harmonizing,  instead  of  contrasting,  with  cheeks  of 
clear  pale  olive.  His  frame  was  well  knit  and  put  to- 
gether, though  on  rather  a  slender  scale.  And  it  was  a 
good  lasting  figure  ;  for  at  five-and-thirty  neither  gaunt- 
ness  nor  coarseness  marred  its  outline.  His  manner,  too, 
was  very  winning  :  more  perhaps  at  first  than  after  long 
acquaintance ;  for  sometimes  its  exceeding  quietude  al- 
most irritated  you.  But  of  his  voice,  with  its  subtle 
variations  of  semitones,  you  never  grew  weary. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  2T 

Any  one  thus  endowed,  unless  exceptionally  weak  in 
intellect  or  strong  in  principle,  or  furnished  with  a  special 
safeguard,  is  scarce  likely  to  reach  manhood  without 
working  some  great  harm  to  himself,  if  not  to  others. 
The  safeguard  I  mean,  is  the  having  won  the  love  of  a 
true,  beautiful  woman;  and  the  being  able  to  hold  fast 
that  most  precious  pearl — never  hankering  after  other 
men's  jewels. 

Now,  Mark  Ramsay  was  neither  very  simple  nor  very 
seraphic.  Of  boyish  romance  he  never  was  guilty;  indeed, 
before  he  left  Eton  he  could  theorize  with  dangerous 
glibness  on  certain  subjects,  and  was  an  advanced  Fou- 
rierist  in  matters  feminine.  Guilty  passion  or  lawless 
caprice,  when  they  have  once  fairly  laid  hold  on  a  man, 
will  leave  their  traces  behind,  however  thoroughly  they 
may  seem  to  be  shaken  off,  like  any  other  malaria.  Years 
after  the  patient  has  been  pronounced  perfectly  whole, 
there  will  come  back,  without  rhyme  or  reason,  the  hot 
thrills  and  the  cold  shivers.  Nevertheless,  there  are  de- 
grees in  maladies,  and  Mark  Ramsay  had  curiously  ill 
luck  in  his  first  fever-fit. 

Frederic,  Graf  von  Adlersberg,  was  a  very  famous 
diplomatist.  The  truces  he  obtained,  and  the  treaties  he 
cemented,  when  war,  or  discord  at  the  least,  seemed  in- 
evitable, are  written  down  in  history.  Ermengild,  his 
wife,  was  almost  better  known  for  the  domestic  contracts 
she  had  severed,  and  the  family  revolutions  she  had 
caused.  There  was  scarcely  a  capital  boasting  an  em- 
bassy on  which  she  had  not  made  her  mark.  In  six 
European  tongues  at  least,  anathemas  or  complaints  might 
have  been  heard  at  the  mention  of  -her  name ;  and  ma- 
trons, mothers,  and  maids  would  have  joined  in  the  chorus. 
She  had  served  her  master  more  earnestly  and  success- 
fully than  ever  her  husband  served  his  earthly  sovereign. 
But  she  never  wrought  a  more  thorough  piece  of  the 
devil's  work  than  when  she  "formed"  Mark  Ramsay. 

There  are  crimes  that  no  lawgiver,  from  him  of  Horeb 
downwards,  has  ever  set  down  in  his  calendar ;  crimes 
concerning  which  the  acutest  legalist  could  never  draw 
an  indictment.  Yet  to  expiate  lesser  offenses,  men — ay, 
and  women  to  boot — have  come  forth  through  a  low  dark 


28  BREAKING  A  BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

door  into  the  cold  gray  morning1,  and  stood  under  a  black 
beam,  waiting  for  their  shameful  death,  while  ten  thou- 
sand of  their  fellow-creatures  looked  on  unpityingly.  Many 
who  are  guilty  of  such  deeds  sit  in  the  foremost  places 
of  our  synagogues  and  the  foremost  rooms  at  our  feasts, 
bearing  themselves  debonnairely  or  austerely  after  their 
fashion ;  either  smiling  with  calm  superiority  at  their 
neighbor's  misdeeds  and  failings,  or  casting,  with  unerr- 
ing aim,  sharp  stones  at  whoso  shall  have  broken  the 
least  commandment  in  the  Decalogue.  Yet,  I  think, 
for  these  things  there  will  come  a  reckoning,  when  the 
penalty  shall  be  paid  to  the  uttermost  pang. 

The  Countess  von  Adlersberg  was  none  of  these 
smooth-faced  hypocrites.  She  sinned  with  a  high  hand, 
and  would  no  more  have  dreamt  of  draping  herself  in 
social  virtue  than  of  going  to  a  masquerade  as  a  wimpled 
nan.  More  than  once  blood  had  been  shed,  when  she 
might  have  averted  the  calamity  by  a  word  or  a  sign ; 
but  she  sat  still,  while  it  went  on  to  the  bitter  end,  with 
no  more  ruth  than  Faustina  may  have  felt  at  the  circus 
when  she  gave  the  death-sign  with  her  little  white  thumb. 

Yet  Ermengild  was  never  more  thoroughly  a  murderess, 
in  intent  than  when  she  dropped  poison  at  the  root  of 
every  frank,  fresh,  and  generous  impulse  in  Mark  Ram- 
say's heart,  watching  them  wither  day  by  day,  till  only  a 
dry  waste  was  left  on  which  flowers  could  nev^r  grow 
again. 

It  was  at  Baden  those  two  met,  in  the  summer  of 
Mark's  second  year  at  Oxford.  Myriads  of  handsome 
faces  had  passed  under  the  review  of  the  countess's  criti- 
cal eyes;  but  never  one  quite  like  Ramsay's.  Almost  at 
the  first  glance  she  determined  on  his  conquest,  very 
much  as  some  wealthy  bey  may  determine  on  the  pur- 
chase of  some  new  importation  into  the  slave-market, 
and  with  no  more  doubt  as  to  the  result.  There  was  n<> 
sort  of  difficulty  in  bringing  him  within  her  reach;  for 
Count  von  Adlersberg  then,  and  for  some  time  after,  was 
engaged  in  London  on  important  diplomatic  business, 
and  Ermengild  had  a  large  English  acquaintance.  How 
quickly,  rapidly,  and  completely  Mark  was  subjugated 
need  not  be  told;  all  the  more  rapidly,  perhaps,  for  those 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  29 

theories  aforesaid  which  had  given  him  a  hollow  sense 
of  security,  and  made  him  a  sort  of  oracle  among  his  fel- 
lows. Every  one  knows  the  trite' old  proverb  about  "a 
little  learning."  It  is  never  more  true  than  when  applied 
to  a  moral  or  physical  duel:  the  straightforward  sim- 
plicity of  utter  ignorance  has  puzzled  science  ere  now; 
but  it  is  next  to  a  miracle  if  one  who  flatters  himself  he 
has  some  cunning  in  fence  escapes  without  a  dangerous 
wound.  All  through  that  autumn  and  winter  and  the 
ensuing  spring  Mark  Ramsay  abode  under  the  spell. 
The  sorceress  marveled  sometimes  at  her  own  constancy 
in  caprice ;  but  this  one,  though  it  endured  longer  than 
most  others,  came  at  last  to  a  rather  abrupt  close.  Then 
— with  little  preamble  or  excuse — she  cast  open  the 
gates  of  her  prison-house,  and  told  her  thrall  that  he 
was  free. 

Such  a  freedom  as  it  was!  Freedom  from  faith ;  free- 
dom from  such  old-world  prejudices  as  reverence  for 
woman's  truth,  or  respect  for  her  honor;  freedom  from 
all  natural  compunctions  that  cause  a  man  to  ponder  for 
awhile,  if  not  to  hold  his  hand,  when  on  the  point  of 
working  bitter  wrong,  which  may  never  be  amended,  on 
innocents  or  weaklings;  freedom  from  ruth  or  remorse. 
And,  in  place  of  these  things,  only  a  vague  desire  to  re- 
quite on  the  many  the  harm  wrought  by  the  one,  and 
a  dogged  determination  to  make  his  own  pleasure  the 
Lesbian  rule  of  his  life  thenceforward. 

In  such  a  frame  of  mind  Mark  Ramsay  went  on  his 
way  through  the  world  when  he  was  not  twenty-one ; 
and  a  terrible  parody  of  a  noble  maxim  was  his  motto 
even  to  the  end: — 

Fais  ce  quo  voudras, 
Advienno  que  pourra. 

It  would  be  unfair  to  impute  all  this  to  the  influence — 
fatal  as  it  undoubtedly  was — which  overshadowed  him 
so  early.  Mark  was  born  with  a  sufficient  portion  of  the 
stubborn  hardness  which,  for  centuries  past,  if  Fame  spoke 
true,  had  run  in  the  Ramsay  blood.  This  had  been 
fostered,  doubtless,  by  his  home-training,  wherein  natural 
affection  was  replaced  by  antagonism.  If  the  Countess 

3* 


30  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

Ermengild  had  never  crossed  his  path,  it  is  not  likely  he 
would  ever  have  turned  out  gentle  or  good,  or  even  wise 
in  his  generation.  Many  there  are — very  fortunately  for 
the  well-being  of  this  world  of  ours — who,  had  their  first 
illusion  been  destroyed  yet  more  rudely,  would  have  re- 
membered that  there  was  much  work  left  for  them  to  do, 
and  many  prizes  of  all  sorts  worth  the  winning;  and 
have  braced  themselves  to  the  honest,  healthy  pursuit  of 
these,  instead  of  falling  back  long  before  their  prime  on 
the  cynicism  which  ought  to  be  the  last  resource  of  dis- 
appointed old  age.  But  Mark  Ramsay — having  said  in 
his  first  haste,  "all  women  are  liars" — acted  on  the 
aphorism  in  bitter  earnest. 

For  many  years  he  led  an  odd  wandering  sort  of  life ; 
spending  much  more  of  his  time  abroad  than  in  England, 
and  having  nowhere  a  fixed  abiding-place.  He  cultivated 
art  in  a  desultory  dilettante  fashion,  and  his  pursuits 
were  rather  of  a  quiet  than  an  athletic  order ;  though  he 
was  famous  both  with  pistol  and  rifle,  and  had  done  some 
notable  work  with  the  big  game  in  divers  countries.  The 
only  restless  element  in  all  his  nature  was  evinced  in 
fondness  for  traveling.  There  were  few  nooks  and  cor- 
ners, indeed,  of  the  civilized  world  that  were  strange  to 
him ;  and  fewer  still,  where  he  had  tarried  beyond  a 
brief  season,  whence  some  tale  might  not  have  been 
gathered  redounding  little  to  his  credit.  Wherever  he 
went  he  made  the  same  pitiless,  unscrupulous  use  of  his 
fair  face  and  lissom  tongue.  With  women,  unfortunately, 
forewarned  is  not  forearmed ;  and  thus  far  his  evil  re- 
pute seemed  never  to  have  seriously  hindered  the  accom- 
plishment of  his  desires.  He  was  not  a  whit  more  reck- 
less of  the  consequences  to  others  than  of  the  consequences 
to  himself;  but  he  had  come  out  of  the  most  serious  scrapes 
scathless  —  though  not  always  unscathiog  —  with  the 
strange  impunity  that  seems  to  attach  only  to  those  who 
will  play  for  their  lives  as  readily  as  for  any  other  stake. 

Ramsay  never  paraded  his  conquests  or  boasted  of 
them  in. after-days.  He  would  speak  lightly  enough  of 
womankind,  but  never  disparagingly  of  any  single  woman. 
Indeed,  he  would  show  a  distaste  for  such  converse  plainly 
rnough  at  times.  Few  who  sought  to  betray  him  into 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  31 

confession  or  confidence  tried  the  experiment  twice.  This 
spark  of  chivalry,  and  a  certain  generosity  at  play — he 
was  a  bold  and  successful  gambler — were  the  two  bright 
spots  relieving  the  darkness  of  Mark  Ramsay's  nature  at 
thirty-five. 

With  all  this,  his  evil  reputation  spread  itself  far  and 
wide ;  the  more  so,  perhaps,  because  there  never  had 
been  imputed  to  him  a  single  venial  or  vulgar  intrigue. 
He  confined  his  depredations  exclusively  to  his  own  class; 
somewhat  on  the  principle  of  those  masterful  thieves  of 
ancient  days,  who,  plundering  priest,  noble,  and  franklin 
without  mercy,  let  peasant  and  pauper  go  scot-free.  The 
demi-monde  of  foreign  capitals  knew  him  only  by  name ; 
or,  at  the  most,  by  meeting  him  occasionally  at  enter- 
tainments where  their  presence  was  only  an  accessory  to 
high  play;  and  not  one  of  the  "soiled  doves,"  who  flutter 
from  tree  to  tree  in  the  Forest  of  St.  John,  or  build  their 
nests  in  Brompton  groves,  had  ever  succeeded  in  perch- 
ing, were  it  for  an  instant,  on  his  shoulder. 

Ermengild  von  Adlersberg  had  fallen  back  on  feminine 
diplomacy  when  the  cunning  of  cosmetics  could  no  longer 
dissemble  the  retribution  of  Time  the  Avenger.  Half 
the  domestic  plots  that  amused  or  scandalized  Paris  were 
hatched  in  her  boudoir.  Though  those  two  met  but  sel- 
dom of  late  years,  no  cancans  interested  her  so  much  as 
those  concerning  Mark  Ramsay.  She  seemed,  while  she 
listened,  to  glow  with  a  quiet  satisfaction,  and  a  kind  of 
reflected  triumph  ;  like  a  venerable  college  tutor  hearing 
of  parliamentary  successes  achieved  by  some  favorite 
pupil. 

Two  years  before  the  opening  of  this  tale,  Mark's  po- 
sition had  been  entirely  changed  by  a  singular  freak  of 
fortune.  During  a  winter  spent  in  Paris,  community  of 
tastes,  and,  to  a  certain  extent,  of  pursuits,  brought  him 
much  into  the  company  of  a  certain  Sir  Robert  Kenlis. 
There  was  some  sort  of  cousinship  betwixt  the  two ;  but 
so  entirely  remote,  that  even  a  Scotch  genealogist  would 
have  been  puzzled  fairly  to  unite  the  pedigree.  Such  as 
it  was,  it  was  enough  to  warrant  the  old  baronet  in  grati- 
fying a  fancy  and  a  dislike.  The  fancy  was  for  his  new 
acquaintance  ;  the  dislike  was  for  each  and  every  one  of 


32  BREAKING  A    BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

the  relatives  he  had  ever  known.  So  one  day,  about  a 
week  after  Sir  Robert  Kenlis's  sudden  death,  there  was 
intense  heart-burning  in  the  large  circle  of  expectants,  and 
Borne  wonderment  in  the  world  at  large,  at  the  announce- 
ment that  Mark  Ramsay  had  been  left  the  dead  man's 
sole  heir. 

It  was  a  very  goodly  heritage,  comprising  some  £8000 
a  year  in  improvable  estates  ;  and  money  enough  in  the 
Funds  to  buy  another  fair  property;  to  say  nothing  of 
jewels  and  pictures,  statues  and  furniture,  stored  away 
in  half  the  capitals  of  Europe,  enough  to  stock  a  vaster 
mansion  than  Kenlis  Castle. 

Ramsay  was  in  no  wise  outwardly  exalted  by  his  great 
good  luck,  and  seemed  not  in  the  least  aware  that  from  a 
comparative  cipher  in  the  world  he  had  become  an  im- 
portant unit,  in  whose  well  or  ill  faring  the  matronly  part 
at  least  of  polite  society  took  an  interest  sudden  and  sin- 
cere. Most  of  his  time  was  now  necessarily  spent  in 
England;  otherwise  there  was  little  change  in  his  habits, 
except  that  he  indulged  his  taste  in  horse-flesh  to  the  ut- 
termost, and  entertained  in  London  oftener  and  on  a  larger 
scale  than  had  been  his  wont.  Beyond  a  bachelor  party 
in  the  grouse-season,  he  had  made  no  attempt  to  keep 
house  at  Kenlis  Castle. 

Such  was  Mark  Ramsay  at  the  opening  of  this  our 
tale.  Thus  early  in  it  I  take  leave  to  observe  that  he 
differs  as  widely  from  my  private  and  personal  idea  of  a 
hero,  even  of  melodrama,  as  two  created  or  imagined 
things  can  differ.  He  is  simply  the  chief  actor  in  a  com- 
pany more  or  less  indifferent ;  and  such  as  he  will,  un- 
luckily, often  thrust  themselves  into  such  roles  whether 
it  like  the  manager  or  not. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  33 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  WHERE  are  you  off  to,  Ramsay?  You'll  come  and 
have  a  quiet  smoke  and  take  a  modest  drink  somewhere, 
surely  ?  Platt's  will  be  full  in  about  ten  minutes ;  and 
the  big  rubber  at  the  Partington  is  in  full  swing  just  now  ; 
and — and  there's  lots  of  things  to  do  before  heading 
homewards." 

The  speaker  was  a  big,  brawny  man,  with  a  perfect 
aureole  of  light-red  hair  round'  a  hale,  weather-beaten 
face,  that  would  have  looked  more  at  home  on  a  purple 
moorland,  or  at  the  "down-wind"  side  of  a  gorse-cover, 
or  under  the  steep  bank  of  a  salmon-river,  or  on  the 
slippery  deck  of  a  cutter  "  going  free,"  than  among  the 
delicate  ferns  and  rare  exotics  lining  the  vestibule  of 
Nithsdale  House.  Indeed,  it  was  a  miracle  how  Dick 
Calverly  always  contrived  to  look  so  fresh  ;  considering 
that  he  was  ready  for  "a  quiet  smoke  and  a  modest 
drink"  at  any  hour  in  the  twenty-four,  and  had  a  per- 
fect antipathy  to  taking  his  nightly  rest  at  regular 
hours  if  he  could  find  the  most  shadowy  excuse  for 
keeping  vigil. 

"  That's  the  pull  of  Norway,"  he  was  wont  to  say. 
"  You  never  need  go  to  bed  at  all  there,  unless  you  like. 
Somebody's  up  all  night  long." 

1  believe  his  only  objection  to  the  English  climate  was 
that  it  could  boast  no  midnight  sun.  People  said  he 
burned  the  candle  at  both  ends;  if  so,  it  was  a  very 
tough  taper,  and  seemed  likely  to  outlast  many  that  were 
consumed  by  miser's  rule  He  rather  prided  himself  on 
his  powers  of  seducing  men  into  sitting  up  lo  unearthly 
hours;  but  on  this  occasion  his  simple  eloquence  failed. 
Ramsay  shook  his  head  as  they  went  down  the  steps  to- 
gether. 

"  Your  ideas  of  a  quiet  smoke  are  rather  different  from 
mine,  Dick.  If  I  had  lungs  like  forge-bellows,  or  like 

c 


34  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

yours,  perhaps  I  shouldn't  mind  doing  it  in  a  a  atmos- 
phere that  you  might  cut  with  a  handsaw;  but  I  haven't, 
you  see,  more's  the  pity;  and  my  drinks  already  have 
reached  the  outside  verge  of  modesty.  We  have  done 
quite  enough  for  our  country  to-night,  I  think ;  why 
shouldn't  we  try  what  a  little  sleep  will  do  for  our  noble 
selves  ?" 

Calverly  laughed  a  jolly  laugh  in  his  huge  ruddy 
beard. 

"  You're  a  pretty  specimen  6fa  patriot,  Mark,  you  are! 
Gad!  I  shouldn't  mind  taking^Jbiy  turn  at  some  of  the 
duty-work  you  went  through  to-night.  You  didn't  fag 
over  it,  it  struck  me.  I  don't  wonder  you're  in  such  a 
hurry  to  get  to  bed :  I  suppose  you're  pretty  safe  to 
dream  of  the  White  Widow." 

"  I  never  dream,"  said  the  other,  as  they  parted. 

A  short  walk  brought  Ramsay  home.  He  occupied 
the  6rst  floor  of  one  of  those  pleasant  houses  that  are  to 
be  found  in  certain  quiet  nooks  of  Mayfair,  that,  lying 
close  to  the  stream  of  traffic,  are  never  troubled  by  its 
rattle.  The  rooms  were  very  large  and  lofty,  and  the 
rich  furniture,  though  luxuriant  to  a  degree,  was  sub- 
dued in  tone.  They  had  been  bachelor's  chambers  from 
time  immemorial,  since  the  days  of  the  Millamants  and 
Wildairs;  and  no  tenant  had  yet  been  tempted  to  mar 
the  effect  of  the  carved  cornices  and  panels  by  any  new- 
fangled devices  of  modern  upholstery. 

"  I  never  dream." 

It  was  a  bitter  truth.  Neither  waking  nor  sleeping 
did  idle  visions  trouble  Mark  Ramsay.  The  deep-blue 
eyes,  that  seemed  made  for  dreaming,  rarely  looked  far 
into  futurity — more  rarely  still  into  the  past — but  always 
straight  and  keenly  at  the  goal  set  before  them ;  never 
Blackening  in  their  gaze,  or  turning  aside,  till  the  race  was 
fairly  lost  or  won. 

Despite  the  virtuous  resolves  he  had  expressed  so 
lately,  Ramsay  seemed  in  no  great  haste  to  betake  him- 
self to  rest,  but  sat  down  "by  his  fire, — which  was  still 
burning,  for  the  spring  mornings  were  chill, — and  began 
to  build  up  the  coals,  in  the  slow  mechanical  fashion  of 
one  whose  thoughts  are  busy  elsewhere.  At  length  he 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  35 

rose,  frowning  a  little,  and  muttered  half  aloud  these 
t  \vo  words  : — 

"I  will." 

Now,  when  Mark  Ramsay  said,  "  I  will,"  whether  with 
a  smile  or  a  frown  on  his  face,  it  meant  a  good  deal.  This 
is  what  it  meant  now. 

Utterly  vicious,  cruel,  and  false, — for  he  was  not  more 
pitiless  in  pursuit  than  in  abandonment, — he  was  not  one 
of  those  tinseled  Lovelaces  who,  on  the  strength  of  some 
few  conquests,  more  or  less  easily  achieved,  are  always 
dinning  into  your  ears  thej|  noisy  paean, — 

She  is  a  \^>man,  therefore  to  be  won. 

Mark  was  to  3  good  an  engineer  to  conclude,  simply 
because  he  had  assisted  at  several  victories  by  siege,  sap, 
or  storm,  that  no  fortress  was  impregnable.  Nay,  more, 
he  had  learned  to  estimate  very  justly  the  precise  strength, 
natural  or  artificial,  of  the  place  beleaguered.  He  had  not 
known  Blanche  Ellerslie — intimately  at  least — very  long ; 
but  he  had  known  her  long  enough  to  be  assured  that 
there  was  but  one  way  to  win  her.  The  austerest  devo- 
tee in  all  Belgravia  was  not  less  likely  to  be  beguiled 
into  criminal  folly  than  the  dainty  little  coquette,  who 
only  rebuked  audacity  with  a  deprecating  smile. 

Now,  Mark  Ramsay — not  only  from  the  manner  of  his 
life,  but  from  the  bent  of  his  inclination — had  hitherto 
been  exceedingly  averse  to  wedlock.  It  had  never  en- 
tered into  his  head  to  divide  the  competence  which  barely 
sufficed  his  own  needs  with  a  woman  no  richer  than 
himself.  Liking  luxury  well,  he  liked  liberty  better,  and 
preferred  a  dinner  of  potherbs  to  such  banquets  as  purse- 
proud  or  wealthy  heiresses  purvey.  That  he  was  not 
often  called  upon  to  exercise  self-denial  you  may  well 
imagine.  The  fish  must  be  hungry  indeed  that  will  rise 
at  such  baits  as  an  evil  reputation  and  a  shallow  purse; 
and  more  than  one  of  the  women  who  had  sacrificed  duty 
and  honor  and  happiness  for  Mark  Ramsay  would  have 
shrunk  from  finding  him  a  wife  among  their  own  kith 
and  kin. 

The   case  was  widely  different  now.      Even  Arline 


36  BREAKING   A    BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

probably  slept  infinitely  sounder,  after  the  first  strange- 
ness of  novelty  was  past,  under  the  fretted  roof  of 
Arnheim  than  ever  she  did  under  gipsy  tent  or  cold 
twinkling  stars ;  and  Mark  was  never  a  thorough  Bohe- 
mian. He  was  quite  ready  to  admit  that  wealth,  no  less 
than  nobility,  obliges,  and  was  quite  ready  to  act  up  to 
his  new  duties,  at  least  in  outward  seeming.  Knowing 
that  a  chatelaine  was  sorely  needed  at  Kenlis  Castle,  he 
had  resolved  within  himself  that  the  void  should  ere 
long  be  filled.  But  this  was  not  to  be  hastily  or  rashly 
done.  ^ 

Despite  his  antecedents,  of  choice  there  was  now  no  lack. 
Matrons,  however  extreme  to  mark  what  is  done  amiss 
by  paupers  or  detrimentals,  are  not  prone  to  disbelieve 
in  the  penitence  of  Dives;  and  the  sternest  guardian  of 
our  sheepcotes  will  open  the  wicket  readily  enough  to  the 
wandering  wether  that  carries  fleece  of  gold.  Also  there 
are  damsels  always  to  be  found,  courageous  and  charita- 
ble enough  to  devote  themselves  so  thoroughly  to  the 
good  work  of  guiding  the  reclaimed  sinner  aright,  as  to 
be  willing  to  walk  on  with  him  thenceforward  through 
life  hand  in  hand. 

But  over  the  ranks  of  the  maiden  battalion  Mark  Rani- 
say's  eyes  roved,  admiringly  perhaps,  never  longingly. 
He  was  not  troubled  either  with  scruples  or  remorse ;  but 
he  would  no  more  have  thought  of  asking  a  young  inno- 
cent girl  to  cast  in  her  lot  with  him  for  better  and  for 
worse,  than  he  would  have  sat  down  to  play  piquet  with 
a  boy  who  could  not  count  the  points  of  the  gumc. 
Neither  did  the  taming  of  a  lioncelle  tempt  him  a  whit. 
He  had  seen  such  ventures  turn  out  happily  enough;  in- 
deed, there  was  fair  promise  of  a  like  event  in  that  very 
house  from  which  he  had  just  come;  but  he  did  not  be- 
lieve for  an  instant  that  such  cases  were  parallel  with  his 
own.  Insurance  tables  are  not  infallible;  neither  are 
years  always  to  be  reckoned  by  their  mere  number. 
Men  like  Hugh  of  Nithsdale,  who  have  led  from  youth 
upward  an  honest,  healthy  life,  taking  duty  and  pleasure 
in  their  fair  turn,  have  in  them  the  moral,  if  not  physical, 
vitality — very  oftcoJboth — of  a  dozen  Mark  Ilamsjivs. 

Though  he  was  wonderfully  self-reliant  and  confident  in 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  37 

his  own  resources,  there  was  very  little  trivial  vanity  about 
this  man.  He  had  held  his  own — only  too  successfully 
thus  far — against  all  comers;  but  he  knew  this  could  not 
last  forever.  Another  victory  or  two,  perhaps,  and  then 
he  would  be  fain  to  stand  aside  among  the  veterans,  and 
watch  the  feats  of  younger  champions,  with  the  mild 
satisfaction  of  criticism  or  comparison;  for  "age  will  be 
served."  Years  and  years  ago  he  had  seen  in  Paris  a 
sparkling  little  comedy  wherein  a  choice  specimen  of  the 
ancien  regime  was  made  to  enter  the  lists  with  divers 
aspirants  to  his  young  wife's  favor,  and  vanquish  each 
and  every  one  with  tact,  tongue,  or  sword.  He  remem- 
bered thinking  at  the  time  how  much  pains  and  ingenuity 
had  been  spent  for  small  purpose — how  unlikely  it  was 
that  the  gallant  old  marquis  would  repeat  his  triumph — 
how  impossible  he  could  repeat  it  forever.  Having  but 
faint,  regard  for  most  laws,  human  or  divine,  he  believed 
implicitly  in  the  lex  talionis  He  guessed  with  what 
malicious  scrutiny  his  domestic  life  would  be  watched; 
and  how  little  sympathy  the  assailant  of  others'  peace 
was  likely  to  meet  with  if  his  own  were  imperiled;  what 
exultation,  covert  if  not  expressed,  would  be  felt  in  cer- 
tain quarters  if  it  came  fairly  to  wreck.  It  was  odd 
enough,  yet  true,  that  he  had  never  in  all  his  life  expe- 
rienced one  real  pang  of  jealousy.  What  if  this  infirmity 
were  to  come,  in  the  train  of  others,  with  advancing 
years  ?  He  had  seen  the  faces  of  better  and  wiser  men 
wax  haggard  and  drawn  under  the  slow  torment;  and 
he  had  no  mind  to  see  such  a  reflection  in  his  own  mirror. 
It  was  many  years  since  he  had  read  the  Betrothed;  but, 
if  he  had  forgotten  all  other  points  of  the  tale,  he  had  not 
forgotten  the  substance  of  stout  Wilkiu  Flammox's  speech 
to  the  constable  : — 

"  Think  her  shut  up  in  yonder  solitary  castle,  under 
such  respectable  protection,  and  reflect  how  long  the 
place  will  be  solitary  in  this  land  of  love  and  adventure! 
We  shall  have  minstrels  singing  ballads  by  the  score 
under  our  windows,  and  such  twangling  of  harps  as 
would  be  enough  to  frighten  our  walls  from  their  founda- 
tions, as  clerks  say  happened  to  those  of  Jericho." 

Mark  Ramsav  shivered  within  himself  at  the  bare  idea 
4 


38  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

of  such  a  charge  as  the  captaincy  of  La  Garde  Dolo- 
reuse. 

No.  The  helpmeet  for  him  was  a  woman  who  could 
sweep  graciously  and  gracefully  along  the  world's  high- 
way, not  with  prim  precaution,  yet  keeping  her  dainty 
feet  clear  of  mire  and  pitfalls;  with  a  face  still  so  fair 
that  his  own  eyes  might  look  on  it  long  without  weary- 
ing; with  a  charm  of  manner  that  would  keep  her  attract- 
ive even  if  the  face  should  fade ;  with  tastes  sufficiently 
in  unison  with  his  own  to  promise  pleasant  companion- 
ship in  default  of  perfect  sympathy  betwixt  them;  a 
woman,  in  fine,  who  could  take  her  place  worthily  among 
the  beauties  of  many  generations  whose  portraits  lined 
the  walls  of  Kenlis  Castle. 

Such  a  one  Mark  thought  he  had  found  quite  lately. 

He  had  long  been  familiar  with  Blanche  Ellerslie's 
name;  when  they  first  met  he  felt  only  a  languid  curi- 
osity, and  desire  to  prove  for  himself  whether  fame  had 
exaggerated  the  danger  of  her  society.  But  before  the 
first  hour  was  over  he  became  sensible,  with  rather  pleas- 
ant surprise,  that  he  was  becoming  subject  to  the  fascina- 
tion that  had  enthralled  so  many,  and  recognized  that 
there  were  fresh  sensations  still  for  his  jaded  palate.  As 
they  were  thrown  together,  her  influence  grew  on  him 
more  and  more,  lie  no  longer  watched  her  coquetries 
leveled  at  others  with  the  calm  amusement  of  a  mere 
spectator.  Once  or  twice,  when  be  found  himself  fore- 
stalled in  attracting  attention,  he  had  stood  aside,  smiling 
a  little  disdainfully,  yet  conscious  all  the  while  of  a  sharp 
sullen  pang  that  he  could  not  account  for.  You  see,  up 
to  this  time,  Mark  had  never  been  quite  certain  that  he 
had  a  heart,  in  the  common  acceptation  of  the  term,  ami  .-o 
could  not  be  expected  to  be  well  up  in  the  symptoms  of  car- 
diac disease.  At  last  he  was  fain  to  confess  to  himself  that 
he  was  as  firmly  and  fiercely  bent  on  the  winning  of 
Blanche  Ellerslie  as  he  had  ever  been  on  winning  any 
woman,  living  or  dead.  He  had  given  up,  almost  from 
the  first,  any  idea  of  attaining  this  end  in  any  way  save 
one — the  making  her  his  wife. 

And  now  you  know  \vbat  those  two  words  meant  that 
hovered  on  Ramsay's  lips  as  he  betook  himself  to  his  rest. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  39 


CHAPTER  V. 

BOTH  in  high  and  low  places  of  this  world  there  are 
found  scores  of  homely,  humdrum  persons,  who,  plodding 
on  through  life  in  their  own  placid  way,  are  always  equal 
to  any  emergency  whatsoever,  and  come  out  of  such  or- 
deals infinitely  better  than  their  flashy  fellows. 

Hugh,  Earl  of  Nithsdale,  was  one  of  those.  He  was 
thoroughly  bucolic  in  his  tastes ;  never  so  happy  as  when 
jogging  about  on  his  quiet  old  cob,  chatting  with  his 
tenants,  or  planning  improvements  with  his  steward  and 
wood-reeve.  He  held  Cowper  to  be  the  very  chief  of 
English  poets,  simply  for  having  penned  the  words 

God  made  the  country,  but  man  made  the  town. 

That  hackneyed  line  seemed  to  him  the  embodiment  of 
one  of  the  noblest  truths  that  have  ever  been  promulgated 
in  prose  or  verse.  He  never  breathed  quite  freely  in  an 
atmosphere  laden  with  smoke  and  penned  in  betwixt 
brick  and  mortar,  and  i'elt  far  wearier  after  a  lounge  over 
pavement  or  trim  gravel  than  after  a  trudge  through  the 
stiffest  clay  in  the  Midland  shires.  I  believe,  if  the  truth 
were  known,  he  kept  a  private  calendar  in  school-boy 
fashion,  and  marked  off  the  days  of  the  London  season, 
congratulating  himself,  as  he  lay  down  each  night,  that 
his  holidays  were  so  much  nearer.  In  general  society  he 
was  not  only  silent  and  reserved,  but  shy  to  boot,  and 
would  flee  from  the  face  of  morning  visitors,  to  hide  him- 
self in  the  recesses  of  his  library  till  such  tyranny  was 
overpast. 

Nevertheless,  when  the  saloons  of  Nithsdale  House 
were  full,  the  master  of  the  mansion  seemed  thoroughly 
at  home  and  at  his  ease,  and  essentially  the  right  man  in 
the  right  place.  No  critic  could  have  found  a  Haw  in  the 
gentle,  grave  courtesy  with  which  he  received  his  guests 
and  cared  for  their  comfort.  Having  to  welcome,  for  the 


40  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

first  time  in  his  life,  certain  august  personages,  he  went 
through  the  ceremony,  not  with  the  tremor  of  one  on 
whom  unmerited  or  unexpected  honor  is  conferred,  but 
like  a  man  whose  ancestors,  from  immemorial  time,  have 
been  deemed  worthy  of  a  place  at  the  right  hand  of  roy- 
alty, whether  in  feast  or  fray. 

Not  a  few  there  present  noticed  this,  and  spoke  of 
;'t  afterward  with  a  little  wonder.  The  Countess  Rose 
was  not  so  busy  but  that  she  found  leisure  to  mark  how 
her  husband  bore  himself,  and  to  feel  proud  of  him 
withal.  When  she  had  said  "good-night"  for  the  last 
time,  she  was  too  utterly  weary  to  talk,  even  to  him,  and 
crept  off  to  her  pillow,  whereon,  till  long  after  the  sun 
was  high,  she  slept  the  deep  dreamless  sleep  that  comes 
after  toilsome  triumph.  But  her  first  waking  thought 
was  a  regret  that  she  had  not  thanked  her  dear,  kind 
Hugh  for  playing  his  part  so  well. 

Nothing  short  of  illness,  or  a  social  revolution,  would 
have  broken  the  even  current  of  the  earl's  methodical 
ways.  Late  as  it  was  when  he  lay  down  to  rest,  he  rose 
at  his  usual  hour,  and  was  hard  at  work  in  his  library — 
for  business  letters  were  unusually  numerous  that  morn- 
ing— when  a  message  came  that  the  countess  meant  to 
lunch  in  her  boudoir,  and  begged  that  he  would  join  her. 

Only  once  before,  since  their  marriage,  had  the  earl 
been  so  favored.  It  was  when^  Rose  was  kept  for  a  day 
in  her  rooms,  from  the  effects  of  a  chill.  He  felt  as 
pleased  as  a  boy  who  has  been  asked  to  an  impromptu 
picnic,  and  at  the  appointed  hour  he  mounted  the  stair 
with  an  eager  haste  curiously  contrasting  with  his  usu- 
ally sober  gait.  Yet  he  stood  still  for  an  instant  in  the 
doorway.  Truly  it  was  a  picture  worth  pausing  over 
that  he  saw. 

The  countess  was  lying,  almost  at  full  length,  on  a 
low,  broad  sofa.  The  Mazarin  blue  of  the  huge  pillows 
in  which  her  slight  figure  was  half  buried  brought  out 
in  relief  the  soft  tints  of  her  face  and  hair;  though  her 
face  was  paler  than  usual,  and  there  were  dark  circles 
under  the  long,  brown  eyes.  A  pair  of  dainty  slippers, 
broidered  to  match  her  peignoir,  just  peeped  out  under 
the  ample  skirt  of  soft  gray  silk  with  broad  cerise  facings 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  41 

Her  husband  thought — perhaps  with  justice — that  he 
had  never  looked  on  anything  so  lovely,  and  his  grave 
voice  faltered  a  little  with  very  tenderness,  as  he  leant 
over  her,  saying, — 

"Very  tired,  my  darling?   I  am  sure  I  don't  wonder." 

She  wound  her  arm  round  his  neck,  and  drew  his  head 
down,  lower  and  lower,  till  his  cheek  rested  on  her  lips. 

"Only  pleasantly  tired,  Hugh;  and  it  was  worth 
while,  was  it  not?  Fancy  my  going  to  bed  without 
thanking  you  for  all  the  trouble  you  took  to  make  it  go 
off  well!  You  dear,  patient  thing !  I  was  watching  you 
all  the  time,  and  you  never  yawned  once,  though  you 
hate  late  hours  so." 

The  earl  laughed  quite  merrily  as  he  sat  down  on  the 
footstool  close  to  his  wife's  side,  keeping  her  hand  in  his, 
and  counting  the  jewels  in  her  rings,  one  by  one. 

"You  foolish  child,  did  you  think  that  all  the  burden 
of  doing  the  honors  was  to  be  laid  on  your  poor  little 
shoulders?  These  things  haven't  been  much  in  my  line; 
you're  right  there.  And  I  dare  say  I  made  some  bungle 
that  you  never  noticed ;  but  I  shall  improve  by  practice. 
[  wasn't  bored  for  one  single  instant — I  was  too  busy  ; 
and  it  was  quite  amusement  enough  for  me  to  watch  you 
enjoying  yourself.  You  did  that,  I  think;  though  you 
looked  rather  nervous  at  first." 

"Yes,  I  did  enjoy  myself,"  she  said.  "But  I  think  I 
am  happier,  now  that  I  am  quite  sure  you  were  not 
bored.  My  conscience  is  quite  easy  now,  and — I  do 
hope  they've  sent  us  something  nice  for  lunch  ;  I'm  so 
awfully  hungry." 

It  was  a  very  pleasant  meal — the  pleasanter,  perhaps, 
to  one  of  the  partakers  thereof  because  there  was  not 
the  faintest  chance  of  its  being  intruded  on  ;  for  the 
most  familiar  of  Lady  Nithsdale's  friends — the  few  to 
whom  the  formal  interdict  of  "not  at  home"  had  ceased 
to  apply — would  never  have  dreamt  of  breaking  in  on 
her  repose  till  much  later  in  the  day.  Lady  Daventry 
herself  was  scarce  likely  to  show  before  afternoon  tea. 
When  lunch  was  cleared  away,  and  they  were  alone 
again,  said  the  Countess  Rose, — 

"Now,  Hugh,  I  particularly  wish  to  know  if  you 
4* 


42  BREAKING  A  BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

noticed  one  single  thing  go  wrong  last  night,  or  that  you 
would  have  wished  otherwise." 

The  earl  pondered  awhile.  '  He  was  very  loath  to 
damp  his  wife's  elation,  were  it  ever  so  little ;  but  he 
was  too  honest  to  keep  back  the  truth. 

"Well,  there  was  one  thing,  Rose,"  he  said,  hesitat- 
ingly. "Don't  be  alarmed:  it  was  a  very  trifling  thing. 
If  our  invitation  list  was  perfect,  with  one  exception — 
I  do  wish  you  hadn't  asked  Mr.  Kendall." 

Lady  Nithsdale  raised  her  long  eyelashes  in  languid 
surprise. 

"Now  you  do 'puzzle  me.  Why  on  earth  should  you 
object  to  poor  Horace  Kendall?  I  fancied  you  didn't 
even  know  him  by  sight.  I  hardly  know  him  myself; 
but  I  should  have  mortally  offended  Lady  Longfield  if  I 
had  refused  him  a  card.  From  what  I  have  seen  of  him, 
I  should  think  him  the  most  inoffensive  creature  alive, 
though  he  is  so  clever  in  his  own  way." 

The  earl  bent  his  shaggy  brows  till  they  met. 

"There's  no  more  harm  in  'Lady  Longfield  than  in 
most  other  empty-headed  women,  I  dare  say;  but  she's 
too  fond  of  patronage  to  be  very  careful  where  she 
bestows  it.  It's  quite  as  well  she  has  no  daughters  of 
her  own  to  look  after.  I  never  saw  Mr.  Kendall,  to  my 
knowledge,  till  yesterday ;  but  I  have  heard  quite  enough. 
It's  the  fashion  to  cultivate  him  now,  of  course.  That 
don't  make  him,  in  my  mind,  a  bit  more  fitting  friend  for 
your  sister.  And  I  don't  believe,  Rose,  you'd  consider 
him  so  perfectly  inoffensive  if  you  had  watched,  as  I  did, 
how  completely  he  engrossed  Nina  last  night." 

Now,  the  earl — though  about  the  last  man  living  to 
wish  to  level  or  lower  the  standard  of  his  order — was 
singularly  unapt  to  stand  upon  its  privileges.  He  would 
talk  just  as  frankly  and  genially  with  one  of  his  own 
farmers  as  with  the  inheritor  of  forty  quarterings;  and 
even  the  Radical  solicitor  who  opposed  him  at  elections, 
and  strove  in  all  ways  to  undermine  his  county  influence, 
never  hinted  that  Lord  Nithsdale  had  a  purpose  in  being, 
as  he  expressed  it,  "so  infernally  affable."  Very  seldom 
in  all  his  life  had  he  been  heard  to  speak  hardly  or 
harshty  to  any  fellow-creature.  Indeed,  he  had  some- 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  43 

times  scandalized  his  brother  magistrates  at  Quarter 
Sessions  by  his  ingenuity  in  finding  excuses  for  crimi- 
nals. No  one  knew  this  better  than  his  wife ;  and  she 
felt  he  must  have  good  reason  for  so  speaking,  though 
she  answered,  laughingly, — 

"  Nina !  You  don't  mean  that  puss  got  into  mischief 
at  her  first  ball  ?  She  ought  to  have  been  sent  supperless 
to  bed,  at  least.  No,  I  noticed  nothing ;  but  I  wonder 
mamma  didn't,  though  she  is  so  dreadfully  short-sighted. 
She  was  too  busy  helping  me,  I  suppose.  The  child  shall 
have  a  real  good  scolding  when  she  comes  to  tea." 

Flirtations  were  things  so  entirely  out  of  Lord  Niths- 
dale's  line,  that  it  may  be  worth  while  to  explain  his 
reasons  for  interference. 


CHAPTER'  VI. 

A  QUARTER  of  a  century  ago  few  people,  living  beyond 
its  immediate  neighborhood,  were  aware  of  the  existence 
of  such  a  place  as  Swetenham.  Lying  somewhat  out  of 
the  great  highway  to  the  West,  it  was  scarcely  possible 
to  conceive  any  traveler  being  attracted  there  on  business, 
and  the  country  around  was  not  sufficiently  picturesque 
to  tempt  artistic  explorers.  Everything  is  changed  now. 
Almost  the  sole  relic  of  the  quiet  little  hamlet  is  the  gray 
old  church-tower,  that  seems  strangely  misplaced  among 
the  red-brick  street-rows  radiating  from  the  station  on  a 
well-traveled  branch-line. 

The  great  men  of  those  parts,  for  many  generations,  had 
been  the  Vernons  of  Vernon  Mallory.  The  then-time 
representative  of  that  family  was  a  very  unpopular  char- 
acter; and  deservedly  so;  for  his  manners  and  morals 
rather  beseemed  a  Hungarian  magnate  than  a  decent 
English  squire.  Arrogant  among  his  equals,  he  ground 
down  dependents  and  inferiors  to  a  dead  level  of  servility; 
hunted  poachers  like  wild  beasts,  with  hound,  if  not  with 


44  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

horn  ;  and  in  more  ways  than  one  evinced  ideas  of  feudal 
privileges,  utterly  out  of  date  even  in  the  earlier  part  of 
the  nineteenth  century.  Several  children  had  been  born 
to  him  by  a  wife,  endowed  with  a  temper  almost  as 
haughty  as  his  own,  who  was  not  inclined  to  condone  his 
numberless  infidelities.  Horace  Vernon  was  a  profligate 
of  the  worst  possible  form ;  his  victims  were  chosen  usu- 
ally from  the  class  whose  wrongs,  by  virtue  of  his  station, 
he  was  bound  to  redress ;  and  he  was  utterly  unscrupu- 
lous as  to  the  means  of  working  out  his  will.  His  love, 
or  the  brutal  passion  that  he  dignified  by  the  name,  was 
more  harmful  than  his  anger ;  and  it  was  better  to  see  his 
cruel  eyes  set  like  black  flint-stones,  than  melting  into 
treacherous  softness.  Educational  boards,  and  middle- 
class  examinations,  had  not  come  into  existence  then ;  and 
radicalism  had  not  spread  far  beyond  the  outskirts  of 
towns :  peasants  and  small  yeomen,  in  many  remote  rural 
districts,  were  as  stupidly  patient  and  irrationally  loyal 
as  any  Carinthian  boor.  Men  would  look  up  from  their 
work  and  scowl  as  the  wicked  squire  rode  by,  and  perhaps 
growl  a  curse  under  their  breath  ;  but  none  murmured  or 
complained  aloud :  even  in  the  ale-house,  when  tongues 
were  loosened  by  liquor,  only  a  glum,  significant  silence 
followed  the  mention  of  his  name.  So  long  as  Horace 
Vernon  was  not  thwarted  abroad,  he  cared  little  for  being 
called  to  account  at  home;  and  went  on  the  tenor  of 
his  way,  reckless,  if  not  rejoicing.  Nevertheless,  in  the 
great  house  there  was  discontent  always,  and  not  seldom 
bitter  word-duels. 

If  the  dwellers  in  and  about  Swetenham  were  not 
lucky  in  their  landlord,  they  could  boast  of  one  blessing 
not  to  be  despised.  It  was  the  healthiest  place  possible. 
It  lay  in  a  broad  valley,  sheltered  to  the  east  and  north, 
but  athwart  which  there  was  free  passage  for  the  pleasant 
breezes  that  swept  over  the  chalk  downs.  So  the  sanitary 
requirements  of  the  neighborhood  were  easily  satisfied ; 
indeed,  there  was  no  more  than  work. enough  for  a  single 
practitioner. 

For  nearly  fifty  years  this  post  had  been  filled  by  a 
certain  Dr  Thorner.  All  medical  men  were  "doctors" 
in  those  parts  and  those  days,  without  regard  to  their 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  45 

precise  diploma  or  degree.  You  needed  only  to  watch 
him  jogging  along  behind  his  sober  old  pony,  and  coming 
to  a  stand-still  wherever  he  got  a  chance  of  a  gossip  on 
the  road  or  over  a  gate,  to  guess  at  once  that  there  was 
seldom  urgent  need  for  his  services.  In  truth,  these  were 
chiefly  confined  to  bringing  young  folks  into  the  world, 
and  helping  old  ones  to  slide  out  of  it  comfortably.  But 
the  shadow  on  the  dial  kept  creeping  on — a  little  more 
slowly,  perhaps,  than  in  other  places,  yet  still  creeping  on, 
even  in  Swetenham.  Dr.  Thorner  felt  less  equal  to  his 
work,  light  as  it  was,  and  less  patient  of  interruptions 
to  his  night's  rest.  He  had  saved  more  than  enough  to 
furnish  thenceforward  his  modest  needs;  but  was  too 
wise  to  give  up  practice  altogether,  for  the  bread  of  utter 
idleness  would  certainly  have  disagreed  with  his  digestion ; 
so  he  determined  to  retire  on  half-pay  for  the  present,  and 
to  take  an  assistant.  One  fine  morning  a  new  doctor  ap- 
peared in  Swetenham. 

James  Kendall  was  a  man  of  about  thirty,  with  a  sharp 
fox  face  and  foxy  hair;  a  low  though  not  a  pleasant  voice; 
and  a  manner  that  most  people  found  disagreeably  obse- 
quious. The  master  of  Vernon  Mallory  was  not  easily 
surfeited  with  servility :  from  the  very  first  he  seemed  to 
take  a  fancy  to  the  new-comer,  and  treated  him  with  more 
courtesy — cold  as  it  was — than  he  had  ever  shown  to  the 
honest,  homely  old  man  who  had  assisted  at  his  own  birth 
and  the  deaths  of  both  his  parents. 

The  discords  and  bickerings  at  the  great  house  had 
waxed  bitterer  of  late  ;  indeed,  ever  since  the  establish- 
ment there  of  Mademoiselle  Adele  Deshon  in  the  quality 
of  governess.  She  was  a  Provet^ale ;  rather  piquante 
than  pretty  :  perhaps  her  only  real  attractions  were  large 
velvety  eyes,  and  a  superb  contralto  voice,  perfectly 
trained.  The  ]uire  was  really  fond  of  music,  and  him- 
self no  mean  performer;  so  perhaps  it  was  only  natural 
that  he  should  take  pleasure  in  Mademoiselle  Adele's 
performances,  and,  to  a  certain  extent,  pleasure  in  her 
society.  But  Lady  Eleanor  Vernon  in  no  wise  saw  the 
matter  in  this  light.  She  did  not  care  to  dissemble  her 
dislike  to  the  foreigner  ;  and  soon  was  not  ashamed  to 
put  her  suspicions  into  words.  Ere  long  reports  came 


46  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

to  her  ears  that  fanned  the  jealous  embers  into  flame — 
reports  of  meetings,  frequent  and  prolonged,  not  in  her 
presence ;  and  of  words  and  actions  that  Griselda  would 
scarce  have  looked  on  tamely.  Then  the  Lady  Eleanor 
took  up  the  daggers  in  earnest ;  and  there  was  a  battle- 
royal — a  battle  such  as  the  servants  (unhappily  used  to 
such  scenes)  spoke  of  afterwards  with  'bated  breath — a 
battle  that  was  bound,  one  way  or  another,  to  be  de- 
cisive. 

Oddly  enough,  the  event  was  not  such  as  might  have 
been  expected  from  the  relative  strength  of  the  belliger- 
ents. At  the  moment  when  she  seemed  certain  of  defeat, 
Lady  Eleanor,  for  the  first  time  in  her  matronly  broils, 
fell  back  upon  "her  family;"  and  that  army  of  reserve 
turned  the  fortunes  of  the  day.  With  all  his  violence, 
Horace  Vernon  was  not  blinded  by  passion;  though  he 
might  utterly  disregard  the  good  or  bad  opinion  of  his 
poorer  neighbors,  he  was  by  no  means  indifferent  to  the 
opinion  of  the  county  at  large,  or  inclined  to  risk  his  own 
position  therein.  He  knew  very  well  that  this  would  be 
jeopardized,  and  seriously  too,  if  he  were  brought  into 
open  collision  with  the  House  of  Arlington — a  house 
thrice  as  powerful  as  his  own,  and  not  less  unscrupulous 
than  himself  in  the  exercise  of  their  power.  If  Lady 
Eleanor  betook  herself  to  her  own  people,  insisting  on  a 
separation,  with  grounds  of  complaint  just  and  grave,  the 
squire  guessed  that  place  would  no  longer  be  found  for 
him  among  the  magnates  of  the  land.  Many  who  never 
troubled  themselves  to  sift  reports,  or  inquire  into  village 
scandal,  would  have  been  earnest  enough  in  their  parti- 
sanship when  it  was  a  question  of  Lady  Eleanor  Vernon's 
wrongs. 

Though  the  squire  cursed  and  stormed  more  savagely 
than  his  wont,  evidently  weakness  was  at  the  bottom  of 
all  that  fume  and  fury.  The  wife  kept  her  temper  in  a 
manner  marvelous  for  one  of  her  character — kept  her 
ground  too  steadfastly — and  at  last  carried  her  point,  as 
she  well  deserved. 

It  chanced  that  James  Kendall  came  to  Vernon  Mai- 
lory  that  same  afternoon  to  visit  one  of  the  household. 
After  leaving  his  patient  he  was  summoned  to  the  squire's 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIK'S  ENDING.  47 

study,  and  remained  closeted  there  for  a  full  hour.  When 
he  drove  away,  there  \vas  a  great  satisfaction  on  his  cun- 
ning' face,  tempered  by  the  momentary  distaste  of  a  man 
who  has  bound  himself  to  perform  some  hard  or  unpleas- 
ant service  on  exceedingly  remunerative  terms.  Imme- 
diately afterward  Mdlle.  Deshon  was  called  into  her 
master's  presence.  The  interview  was  long,  and,  if  do- 
mestic tittle-tattle  is  to  be  believed,  very  tempestuous. 
•Siime  servants  passing  near  the  study-door  heard  the 
I'rovencale's  rich  round  voice  strained  and  shrill  in  plaint 
or  reviling;  answered  by  the  deep  harsh  tones  that,  when 
Horace  Vernoii  was  angered,  sounded  like  the  growl  of 
distant  thunder.  When  Mdlle.  Adele  came  forth,  she 
went  straight  to  her  own  chamber,  whence  she  emerged 
no  more  that  evening;  but  one  of  the  housemaids,  who 
crossed  her  on  her  way  thither,  averred  that  "  Mara 'sell 
looked  as  pale  as  a  turnip,  and  her  eyelids  were  as  red 
and  puffed  as  ripe  gooseberries."  The  next  morning  the 
village  gossips — there  were  gossips  in  an  out-of-the-way 
hamlet  live-and-twenty  years  ago — were  startled  by  the 
news  that  the  new  doctor  had  been  for  some  time  past 
engaged  to  the  governess  at  the  great  house,  and  that  the 
marriage  would  take  place  shortly. 

A  week  later,  it  was  noised  abroad  that  Dr.  Thorner 
had,  for  a  liberal  consideration,  been  induced  to  abandon 
his  practice  altogether  to  his  assistant;  and  that  thence- 
forward Swctenham  and  the  neighborhood  would  be  under 
•lames  Kendall's  sole  medical  care. 

It  was  a  very  quiet  wedding.  The  only  person  of  any 
importance  present  was  the  squire  himself,  whose  louring 
face  would  have  suited  a  funeral  better  than  such  a  cere- 
ninny;  and  neither  the  bride  nor  the  bridegroom  looked 
precisely  like  people  whose  uttermost  happiness  is 
crowned.  Before  Adele  had  been  long  a  wife,  a  weak- 
ness in  her  lungs  displayed  itself — at  least,  so  her  hus- 
band said,  and  he,  of  course,  must  have  known  best — 
that  could  only  be  arrested  by  removal  to  a  warmer  cli- 
mate. So  she  went  to  her  own  people  in  Provence,  and 
abode  with  them  nearly  twelve  months.  She  returned 
to  all  appearance  perfectly  recovered,  bringing  with  her 
a  handsome  dark-haired  boy — extraordinarily  forward  for 


48  BREAKING  A    BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

a  yearling — who  had  already  been  christened  "  in  honor" 
— Adele  was  wont  to  murmur  demurely — "  of  our  good 
friend  and  benefactor  up  yonder."  The  precise  nature  of 
such  benevolence  she  never  cared  to  define;  neither  into 
such  matters  was  it  anybody's  special  business  to  in- 
quire. 

In  the  twenty  years  that  ensued,  Dr.  Kendall  certainly 
prospered.  He  was  clever  in  his  profession,  and  wrought 
many  cures  in  cases  where  honest  old  Thorner  wouid 
have  thrown  up  his  hands  in  despair;  and  his  practice 
had  largely  increased,  especially  since  the  branch  railway 
was  begun;  for  the  navvies  were  not  only  always  cutting 
and  maiming  themselves  after  their  fashion,  but  also  in- 
fected the  neighborhood  with  evil  habits  of  debauch  and 
drink.  So  grist  flowed  in  fast  to  the  medical  mill — not 
quite  fast  enough  though  for  all  the  luxuries  in  which  his 
wife  indulged,  nor  for  the  expensive  education  of  his  son. 
Being  an  only  child,  it  was  perhaps  likely  that  Horace 
should  be  much  indulged  ;  but  one  or  two  of  the  more 
sharp-sighted  of  Kendall's  neighbors  thought  the  doctor's 
manner  was  scarcely  that  of  an  overfond  father.  He 
seemed  to  yield  to  the  boy's  whims,  and  overlook  his  in- 
solence, rather  because  it  was  politic  than  pleasant  to  him 
so  to  do.  With  each  year,  Horace  seemed  less  inclined 
to  cumber  himself  with  putting  on  even  a  decent  sem- 
blance of  filial  respect.  All  the  affection  he  had  to  spare 
centered  itself  in  bis  mother,  who  certainly  deserved  it  by 
her  intense  devotion :  it  was  a  great  trial  to  both  when 
Horace  left  home  to  live  permanently  in  London,  on  his 
appointment  to  a  clerkship  in  the  Rescript  Office. 

Retribution  for  the  sins  of  his  youth  had  come  heavily, 
in  more  ways  than  one,  on  the  master  of  Vernon  Mallory. 
He  had  plunged  deep  into  speculation  of  late-  years,  with 
the  headlong  obstinacy  of  a  man  who  will  listen  to  no 
counsels  but  his  own,  believing  the  rest  of  mankind  to  be 
either  fools  or  knaves.  He  struggled  out  of  the  quag- 
mire, not  absolutely  ruined,  but  crippled  in  income  for  the 
rest  of  his  life.  The  expenses  of  his  family — though  In- 
grudged  every  shilling  not  spent  on  his  own  comfort — 
added  to  his  numerous  ailments,  caused  the  squire  to 
break  up  his  establishment  and  reside  almost  always 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  49 

abroad.  His  last  act  before  leaving  England  was  to 
exert  his  influence  to  obtain  that  clerkship  in  the  Rescript 
Office  for  Horace  Kendall.  Competitive  examinations 
were  not  as  yet;  and  Vernon  of  Vernon  Mallory  had 
always  shown  himself  a  stanch  adherent  to  the  party 
then  in  power.  It  was  not  a  great  boon  for  a  man  to  ask, 
who  brought  up  as  many  votes  to  an  election  as  he  could 
count  tenants  ;  for  none  of  these  had  yet  been  found  bold 
or  enlightened  enough  to  run  counter  to  their  lord's  will. 
Such  a  patriot  would  have  been  dismissed  very  speedily 
to  ruminate  in  fresh  pastures  on  the  blessings  of  inde- 
pendence and  the  privileges  of  our  glorious  constitution. 

Horace  Kendall  began  life  under  auspices  exception- 
ally favorable  for  a  country  apothecary's  son.  He  had 
personal  advantages  of  no  mean  order.  His  face  was  de- 
cidedly handsome,  in  the  jeune  premier  style,  with  a  deli- 
cacy of  feature  almost  effeminate  ;  and  he  had  the  full, 
eloquent  Proven9al  eyes ;  his  figure  was,  though  long  and 
loosely  hung,  one  of  those  that  make  up  well  under  the 
hands  of  an  artistic  tailor;  his  manner,  though  sometimes 
rather  affected,  was  not  devoid  of  a  certain  grace ;  and 
by  some  mysterious  means  there  was  provided  for  him 
an  allowance  more  than  sufficient. 

Yet,  for  awhile,  he  seemed  not  likely  to  make  the  best 
of  a  good  start,  and  among  his  immediate  associates  was 
decidedly  unpopular.  The  Rescript  Office  men  were  not 
more  fastidious  than  other  civil  servants  ;  but  they  gener- 
ally contrived  to  find  out  something  concerning  the  ante- 
cedents of  each  fresh  recruit  to  their  small  and  select 
company.  There  were  several  among  them  not  much,  if 
nt  all,  superior  to  Kendall  in  birth — according  to  his  re- 
puted parentage — who  got  on  perfectly  with  their  fellows, 
both  in  and  out  of  office-hours.  But  then  these  men  bore 
themselves  modestly,  not  with  the  assumption  in  which 
Horace  saw  fit  to  indulge. 

There  are  degrees  and  differences  in  conceit,  as  every 
one  knows.  There  is  the  light,  frothy  conceit,  easily 
blown  away  with  a  strong  breath,  which  not  unfrequently 
floats  on  the  surface  of  a  generous  nature.  There  is  the 
puerile  conceit  of  the  spoiled  page,  which  provokes  a  not 
ill-natured  laugh  from  manhood  and  often  meets  encour- 
D  5 


50  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

agement  from  women.  Lastly,  there  is  the  conceit  in- 
grain,— at  which  none  are  inclined  to  smile,  even  if  they 
chafe  not  thereat, — that  betrays  itself  not  so  much  by 
vaunting  words  as  by  subtle  self-assertion.  This  last, 
surely,  never  since  the  world  began,  has  been  known  to 
leaven  stuff  out  of  which  brave  or  wise  or  honest  men 
are  made. 

"A  .natural  curiosity,"  said  Walter  Rougemont,  the 
heraldic  authority  of  the  Rescript  Office.  "That  super- 
cilious look  of  his  yesterday,  and  the  way  in  which  he 
minced  out  '  Cheltenham'  when  Goodenough  talked  of 
having  been  at  school  there,  were  quite  a  study.  But 
when  I  want  to  see  natural  curiosities  I  go  to  a  museum. 
If  he  knew  his  own  interests,  he  would  not  always  be 
provoking  people  to  ask,  'who  is  he  ?'  I'm  not  quite  clear 
about  it  yet,  but  I  have  more  than  a  vague  notion  that, 
if  he's  any  right  to  armorial  bearings,  it  is  as  a  '  Fitz'- 
somebody  or  other.  I  vote  we  begin  seriously  to  take 
the  conceit  out  of  him.  The  man's  a  perfect  nuisance, 
as  he  stands." 

Now,  this  exhaustive  process,  however  sanitary  in  the 
end,  is  intensely  disagreeable  to  the  patient.  Kendall's 
self-sufficiency  was  in  no  wise  proof  against  the  keen 
sharp-pointed  shafts  that  ever  and  anon  sought  out  the 
joints  of  his  harness ;  and,  when  he  was  free  from  such 
annoyance,  the  sense  of  isolation  was  almost  more  intol- 
erable. Ere  long,  Horace  felt  so  thoroughly  ill  at  ease 
that  he  was  sorelv  tempted  to  resign,  and  seek  fortune 
elsewhere.  While  his  first  London  season  was  yet  young, 
all  such  notions  vanished,  and  his  social  prospects  bright- 
ened suddenly. 

Kendall's  visiting-list  was,  thus  far,  very  limited ;  but 
he  chanced  one  night  to  be  present  at  a  large  musical 
party  whereat  most  of  the  cognoscenti  then  in  London 
were  assembled.  He  knew  hardly  any  one  there,  and 
hovered  rather  disconsolately  near  the  piano,  where  some- 
how he  felt  rather  more  at  home.  It  was  not  a  set  pro- 
gramme, and  there  was  plenty  of  room  for  amateurs  as 
well  as  professionals  to  display  their  talent;,  but  it  was 
rather  late  before  the  mistress  of  the  house  bethought  her- 
self of  asking  Kendall  to  sing. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING  51 

"He  has  rather  a  singing  face,"  she  thought,  "and 
must  be  fond  of  music,  or  he  would  not  have  been  hover- 
ing round  the  instrument  all  night." 

Horace  complied  very  willingly.  He  was  not  a  whit 
troubled  with  bashfulness,  and  reckoned — not  without  rea- 
son— on  some  sort  of  a  triumph,  though  most  assuredly 
not,  on  such  a  one  as  he  obtained.  His  audience  were  fairly 
taken  by  storm.  Professionals  were  not  less  enthusiastic 
than  amateurs  in  their  praise  of  the  purest  tenor  voice 
that  had  been  heard  in  London  saloons  for  many  a  day ; 
and  those  who  understood  such  matters  best  affirmed 
that  there  was  in  it  a  latent  power  that  only  needed  to  be 
developed  to  surpass  many  of  high  renown  on  the  stage. 

Thenceforward  Horace's  immediate  future  was  as- 
sured. On  the  morrow  morning  he  woke  and  found 
himself  The  Fashion  ;  what  that  terse  and  rather  vulgar 
expression  signifies,  every  one  knows.  Before  long,  as 
far  as  evening  parties  were  concerned,  he  was  only  trou- 
bled by  the  embarrassment  of  choice.  His  fellows  in  the 
Rescript  Office  liked  him  perhaps  not  a  whit  better;  but 
they  could  not  help  feeling  a  certain  pride  at  counting 
among  their  subalterns  such  a  celebrity;  and  they  could 
not  deny  that  he  had  some  right  to  give  himself  airs  now 
— the  which  privilege  Kendall  was  not  minded  to  neglect. 

Adele  Kendall  was  not  a  model,  either  as  a  wife  or  a 
mother ;  but  the  wisest  and  purest  of  women  need  not 
have  been  ashamed  of  such  tears  as  clouded  her  eyes  as 
she  laid  down  the  letter  in  which  her  son's  first  success 
was  set  forth,  and  in  a  long  sweet  day-dream  built  up  a 
stately  air-temple,  fit  one  day  to  be  her  idol's  shrine. 

Among  those  who  cultivated  the  new  celebrity  most 
assiduously  was  the  Lady  Longfield  mentioned  above, 
concerning  whom  Hugh  of  Nithsdale  spoke  so  irreverently. 
She  was  one  of  those  wealthy  worthy  widows,  with  hearts 
even  larger  than  their  purses,  who  seem  to  thrive  nowhere 
so  naturally  as  on  English  soil,  who  always  mean  thor- 
oughly well  by  their  generation,  even  if  they  do  not  greatly 
contribute  to  its  credit  or  well-being.  Among  all  follow- 
ers of  that  haute  venerie  there  was  found  no  more  in- 
trepid "  lion-hunter. "  "  Lion-slayer"  to  boot  she  was  called 
by  her  detractors  ;  in  truth,  sooner  or  later,  in  one  fashion 


52  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;     OR, 

or  another,  her  proteges  generally  managed  to  come  to 
grief.  But,  putting  a  little  harmless  vanity  aside,  she  had 
no  selfish  motive  in  the  pursuit ;  and,  though  her  days  of 
mourning  lasted  not  long,  no  one  regretted  more  sincerely 
the  shortcomings  or  downfall  of  her  favorites.  For  the 
time  being,  she  spoiled  them  intensely,  and  no  amount  of 
disappointments  could  teach  her  discretion  in  patronage. 
She  might  be  as  plaintive  as  you  please  overnight ;  but 
the  joy  of  a  fresh  and  rarer  discovery  was  almost  sure  to 
come  with  the  morning ;  and  her  moan  over  the  monarch 
of  her  affections  was  scarcely  made,  before  on  her  lips  re- 
sounded a  jubilant  "  Long  live  the  king  1" 

It  was  very  pleasant  to  have  the  entree  at  all  canonical 
hours  to  that  charming  mansion  in  Mayfair,  where  every 
domestic  detail  was  faultless,  and  visitors  found  them- 
selves metaphorically,  no  less  than  literally,  on  velvet; 
but  the  atmosphere  would  have  been  pernicious  to  a 
healthier  nature  than  Horace  Kendall's.  Very  few  men 
of  his  age  can  occupy  the  oracular  tripod  round  which 
clouds  of  incense  are  always  steaming,  with  senses  sober 
and  clear ;  and  fewer  still  can  feed  on  flattery  daily,  with- 
out waxing  overweening  as  Jeshurun  on  the  rich,  un- 
wholesome diet. 

Lady  Longfield  did  not  scruple  to  suggest  to  her  new 
favorite  that  he  should  abandon  at  once  mechanical  quill- 
driving,  and  seek  fame  and  fortune  on  the  operatic  stage. 
To  this  plan  Horace  lent  a  not  unwilling  ear.  Whilst  it 
was  yet  immature,  he  wrote  to  Swetenham,  setting  forth 
this  new  project,  in  perfect  confidence  of  its  meeting  with 
assent  and  encouragement.  Had  the  answer  rested  with 
her  alone,  it  is  certain  Mrs.  Kendall  would  have  tried  to 
promote  this  like  any  other  whim  of  her  spoiled  darling ; 
but  she  was  fain  to  take  others  into  counsel.  Within  a 
week  there  came  from  across  the  seas  a  veto,  curt,  stern, 
and  decisive,  that  neither  mother  nor  son  dared  disregard ; 
so  for  the  present  Horace  was  fain  to  content  himself  with 
private  ovations,  instead  of  aspiring  to  public  triumphs. 

There  was  a  faint  savor  of  bitterness  in  the  luscious  cup 
that  day  by  day  he  drained  so  eagerly.  His  presence  was 
sought  by  many  melo-maniacs  in  the  "  upper  ten  :"  yet  his 
overweening  vanity  did  not  blind  him  to  the  fact  *.hat  it 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  53 

was  in  a  semi-professional  capacity  tnat  he  was  welcomed 
in  their  houses.  Only  at  Lady  Longfield's  he  was  thor- 
oughly at  home.  His  hostesses  were  civil  and  grateful 
to  a  degree ;  but  after  their  most  elaborate  compliments 
and  expansive  thanksgiving,  he  felt  as  if  he  were  being 
paid  in  kind,  if  not  in  coin.  Their  daughters  were  liberal 
of  pretty  speeches  and  smiles;  but  somehow  he  never 
found  his  way  into  a  coterie;  and,  with  every  advantage 
of  time  and  place,  he  could  never  bring  off  one  of  the 
"cosy  two-handed  cracks"  contrived,  even  in  the  heart  of 
a  crowded  assembly,  by  barbarians  who  had  not  so  much 
as  heard  of  the  chromatic  scale. 

AVith  men  he  was  not  a  whit  more  popular  than  before 
he  began  to  be  famous.  They  had  no  purpose  to  serve 
in  gaining  his  "most  sweet  voice  ;"  and  troubled  them- 
selves very  little  with  his  whims  or  his  ways — always  ex- 
cepting certain  parvenus  and  their  parasites,  to  whom 
notoriety  was  a  sufficient  attraction.  Not  many  seemed 
to  care  for  more  than  a  nodding  acquaintance  with  Ken- 
dall ;  and  when  he  sought  to  be  admitted  into  a  certain 
club — not  ill-naturedly  exclusive  as  a  rule — he  was 
"pilled"  pitilessly. 

With  all  his  fatuity,  Horace  had  a  keen  cunning  eye 
for  his  own  interests,  and  very  just  ideas  as  to  the  wis- 
dom of  filling  his  garner  whilst  the  sun  shone.  A  mar- 
riage that  by  connection,  if  not  by  mere  dowry,  would 
assure  his  position  thenceforth  forever,  was  the  aim  set 
steadfastly  before  him.  There  was  nothing  wildly  im- 
probable in  such  ambition.  Was  he  not,  in  common  with 
other  frequenters  of  the  Mile,  dazzled  daily  by  the  gor- 
geous equipages  of  Camille  Desmoulins,  who,  not  long 
ago,  had  been  content  with  the  modest  salary  of  a  second- 
rate  tenor;  and  was  it  not  known  how  the  said  Camille, 
with  no  other  exertion — bodily  or  intellectual — had  so 
warbled  himself  into  the  good  graces  of  a  wealthy  widow, 
that  she  proffered  him  the  guardianship  of  her  venerable 
person  and  of  her  vast  worldly  goods?  Kendall  knew 
himself  to  be  an  adventurer,  and  felt  no  shame  in  avow- 
ing it  to  himself;  reckoning  his  chances  and  resources 
quite  coolly,  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  had  tht 
pull  of  most  of  his  rivals  in  the  ignoble  race. 

5* 


54  BREAKING  A    BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

Nevertheless,  the  curtain  dropped  on  the  summer 
season,  the  country  visits  that  engrossed  almost  all  his 
autumn  furlough  were  over,  the  mild  dissipations  of  win- 
ter were  past — and  his  object  as  yet  assumed  no  more 
definite  form  and  substance  than  the  shadows  that  cross 
magic  mirrors  or  glide  past  the  watchers  on  All-Hallows- 
eve.  Horace  waxed  discontented,  if  not  disappointed; 
but,  before  the  spring  was  far  advanced,  there  came  a 
salve  to  his  wounded  vanity. 

Gwendoline — more  familiarily  called  Nina  Marston — 
was,  as  the  most  indulgent  of  her  friends  and  kinsfolk 
allowed,  "a  very  odd  girl."  She  was  not  eighteen  yet, 
so  that  her  character  could  scarcely  have  developed  it- 
self; yet  even  now  it  presented  the  strangest  contrast  of 
weakness  and  strength.  In  what  manner  Lady  Daven- 
try's  children  were  trained  has  already  been  told.  Nina 
was  no  exception  to  the  general  laissez-aller  rule ;  indeed, 
being  decidedly  independent,  not  to  say  turbulent,  by  na- 
ture, she  emancipated  herself  sooner  than  Rose  had  done 
from  the  light  thraldom  of  the  governess,  and,  being  less 
a  favorite  with  her  mother,  was  left  more  entirely  to  her 
own  devices.  She  was  as  different  as  possible  from  her 
sister,  physically  no  less  than  morally.  Till  you  remem- 
bered how  such  peculiarities  reappear  capriciously  after 
the  lapse  of  generations,  and  that  within  the  last  century 
and  a  half  there  had  come  a  Spanish  cross  into  the  Mars- 
ton  blood,  you  would  have  been  puzzled  to  account  for  the 
wavy  black  hair,  and  the  eyes  more  intensely  black  that 
lit  up  the  small,  dark,  resolute  face.  After  being  an  hour 
in  Nina  Marston's  company,  and  watching  the  play  or 
her  lips,  you  guessed  that  she  was  a  woman  already  in 
willfulness  and  tenacity  of  purpose ;  yet  impulsive  wit  hal, 
and  romantic  to  a  degree  most  uncommon  in  these  days, 
when  our  very  school-girls  smile  at  the  love-conceits 
which  beguiled  their  granddames,  even  as  they  may  have 
smiled  at  the  philandering  of  Arcadia, 

It  was  at  the  very  beginning  of  Nina's  first  season,  be- 
fore her  presentation  dress  was  ordered,  that  she  met 
Horace  Kendall  at  a  morning  concert,  and  heard  him 
sing.  As  she  drove  home  she  said  to  herself,  "  she  had 
met  her  fate."  Now,  in  the  mouths  of  most  girls,  such 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  55 

words  would  have  been  a  mere  form  of  romantic  speak- 
ing; with  Nina,  it  unhappily  was  not  so. 

She  was  none  of  the  little  rnelo-dramatic  heroines  who 
talk  by  rote,  but  one  of  those  who  play  out  their  parts, 
good  or  bad,  only  too  naturally.  They  met  tolerably  often 
after  that  first  day.  Horace  Kendall  was  no  dunce  in 
such  matters ;  but  it  needed  no  expert  to  decipher  the 
language  of  the  great  earnest  eyes,  that  rested  on  him 
with  such  rapt  attention  while  he  was  singing,  and  fol- 
lowed him  afterward,  till  they  hid  themselves  shyly  under 
their  long  lashes  if  their  pursuit  was  detected.  He  came 
from  the  Nithsdale  ball  with  a  pleasant  conviction  of 
"having  made  an  impression  in  that  quarter,"  and  a  firm 
resolve  to  work  out  the  chance  to  the  uttermost. 

Lady  Daventry  did  not  bow  down  and  worship  before 
the  newly-discovered  star.  She  was  quite  content  with 
her  own  set,  and  found  her  house  sufficiently  attractive 
without  calling  in  the  aid  of  talent,  professional  or  other- 
wise. Nevertheless,  Horace  was  sufficiently  well  ac- 
quainted with  her  to  warrant  his  seeking  an  introduction 
to  Nina  early  in  the  evening.  Lady  Daventry  was  not 
at  the  best  of  times  a  vigilant  chaperon;  and  all  her 
energies  that  night  were  engrossed  in  giving  aid  and  en- 
couragement to  her  elder  daughter ;  she  performed  the 
presentation  almost  mechanically,  and  was  too  busy  after- 
ward to  notice  the  flirtation  which  gave  umbrage  to  Hugh 
<>t'  Nithsdale.  Had  she  known  of  it,  it  is  possible  that 
haughty  dame  would  not  have  lain  down  to  rest  without 
a  single  misgiving  of  the  complete  success  of  the  enter- 
tainment. 

Rose  Nithsdale  was  too  'thoroughly  good-natured  to 
get  any  one,  gentle  or  simple,  into  a  scrape  if  she  could 
possibly  avoid  it;  and  had  a  great  horror  even  of  the 
mildest  domestic  discussion.  She  stood  in  great  awe  of 
Lady  Daventry,  who  was,  in  truth,  anything  but  a  stern 
duenna.  Nevertheless,  she  resolved  that  the  punishment- 
parade  should  be  strictly  private;  and,  on  some  pretext 
or  another,  carried  Nina  off  into  her  own  dressing-room 
before  she  said  a  word  concerning  the  misdemeanor  of 
overnight.  When  Lady  Nithsdalr  did  speak,  she  spoke 
very  much  to  the  purpose,  and  with  most  unwonted  earn- 


56  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

estness  and  energy;  but  the  culprit  was  quite  impeni- 
tent, and  seemed  inclined  to  justify,  if  not  to  glory  in, 
her  guilt. 

"  I  never  heard  so  much  ado  about  nothing,"  she  said. 
"  If  I  had  waltzed  five  times  running,  or  sat  out  half  the 
night,  with  Regy  Avenel,  or  any  of  that  lot,  I  shouldn't 
have  heard  a  word  about  it;  and  I  don't  see  why  Mr. 
Kendall  isn't  as  good  as  any  of  them,  though  he  don't 
happen  to  be  in  your  set." 

"  We  know  who  '  that  lot'  are,  at  all  events,"  Rose 
Nithsdale  said;  "and  of  Mr.  Kendall  we  know  absolutely 
nothing,  except  that  he  sings  charmingly.  Regy  Avenel 
would  never  have  dreamed  of  compromising  a  child  like 
you  at  her  first  ball." 

"  No,  he  only  compromises  married  women.  So  kind 
of  him — isn't  it  ?  So  kind  of  you,  too,  to  sacrifice  your- 
selves to  keep  us  out  of  harm's  way.  I  thought  you  were 
too  well  amused  last  night,  Rosie,  to  watch  other  people 
amusing  themselves." 

"  I  didn't  watch  you ;  but  Hugh  told  me  this  morning 

"  the  countess  checked  herself  abruptly,  biting  her 

pretty  lip ;  she  saw  she  had  made  a  false  move. 

"  Hugh  is  more  than  old  enough  to  be  my  father,  I'm 
quite  aware  of  that,"  Nina  retorted ;  "  but  while  papa's 
alive  I  don't  see  that  he's  any  right  to  treat  me  paternally. 
He'll  have  quite  enough  to  do  in  looking  after  one  Mars- 
ton,  I  fancy,  without  taking  all  the  family  on  his  hands." 

It  was  hard  indeed  to  ruffle  Lady  Nithsdale's  easy  in- 
dolent temper;  but  she  began  to  be  provoked  at  the 
stubbornness  of  the  reckless  little  rebel,  and  that  last 
thrust  touched  her  nearly.  She  rose  up  with  no  bad  imi- 
tation of  matronly  dignity,  considering  how  seldom  she 
had  tried  to  assume  it. 

"You're  very  ungrateful,  Nina,  and  you  speak  very 
improperly  about  Hugh.  It's  only  too  good  of  him  to 
try  to  keep  you  out  of  mischief.  I  didn't  mean  to  worry 
mamma  with  this  nonsense,  but  as  you  are  so  self-willed 
I  must  tell  her  about  it.  Perhaps  she  will  make  you 
listen  to  reason." 

The  stubborn  defiant  face  changed  into  a  look  almost 
of  terror.  Nina  was  not  the  least  afraid  of  her  mother's 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  57 

anger ;  but  she  was  mortally  afraid  of  being  put  under 
surveillance ;  that  would  materially  interfere  with  the 
carrying  out  of  divers  ingenious  schemes,  floating  sincf 
last  night  in  her  busy  brain. 

"Oh,  Rosie,  you  won't  do  that!"  she  whispered,  coax- 
ingly,  nestling  close  to  her  sister's  side.  "I  didn't  mean 
to  be  ungrateful  either  to  you  or  to  Hugh — I  didn't, 
indeed.  If  you  only  won't  speak  to  mamma,  I  promise 
to  be  as  good  as  you  please." 

Lady  Nithsdale  was  only  too  happy  to  accept  the  olive- 
branch  ;  she  hated  the  idea  of  haling  any  one  before  the 
judgment-seat.  In  her  own  heart,  she  felt  she  was  no 
more  fitted  to  play  the  monitress,  even  to  that  willful 
child,  than  to  teach  a  class  in  a  Sunday-school.  So  she 
consented  readily  enough  to  connive  for  that  once  at 
Nina's  derogation,  and,  without  actually  becoming  surety 
for  her  sister,  contrive  to  persuade  her  husband  that  the 
offense  should  be  repeated  no  more. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

MARK  RAMSAY  was  none  of  those  over-eager  hunters 
who  mar  their  own  sport  by  impatience  in  the  stalk. 
Every  footfall  that  brought  him  nearer  to  his  quarry  was 
cautiously  planted  ;  so  that  no  rustle  of  leaf  or  grass-blade 
should  startle  in  her  fancied  security  the  fair  hind  he  had 
marked  for  his  own  Yet  day  by  day,  almost  hour  la- 
bour, the  distance  between  them  lessened. 

To  those  who  knew  Blanche  Ellerslie,  it  would  have 
seemed  impossible  that  any  man — not  standing  in  the 
place  of  her  accepted  suitor — should  find  the  field  clear 
of  rivalry  more  or  less  dangerous.  Mark  Ramsay's  at- 
tentions were  never  persecuting  or  obtrusive — seldom, 
indeed,  so  marked  as  they  had  been  at  the  Nithsdale 
ball.  Yet,  somehow  or  other,  the  "old  loves,"  whose 


58  BREAKING   A    BUTTERFLY:    OR, 

name  was  legion,  found  that  an  invisible  circle  was  being 
drawn  around  her,  wherein  there  was  no  rest  for  the  soles 
of  their  feet.  The  small  ear  that  used  to  listen  so  readily 
had  grown  strangely  deaf  to  whispers  of  late ;  the  delimit' 
lips  answered  kindly  and  courteously,  but  no  longer  with 
the  old  temptations  of  mockery  or  gibe  ;  the  soft,  eloquent 
eyes  had  grown  pensive,  and  sometimes  full  of  an  anxiety 
which  the  most  confident  admirer  could  not  flatter  him- 
self he  inspired. 

Even  Oswald  Gauntlet,  the  famous  and  fatal  horse- 
gunner  (by  the  rules  of  the  service  he  had  been  trans- 
ferred twice  or  thrice  into  a  field-battery,  but  even  the 
War  Office  hadn't  the  heart  to  keep  him  there),  who.  ever 
since  their  first  flirtation  on  first  principles — begun  when 
Blanche  was  scarcely  seventeen  and  Oswald  a  beardless 
aide-de-camp — had  retained  his  post  of  high  confidant  at 
the  capricious  little  despot's  court,  no  matter  how  other 
ministers  were  changed,  found  himself,  to  all  intents  :iml 
purposes,  shelved.  He  was  a  warning  to  all  "scufflers" 
present  an'd  to  come,  as  he  stood  apart,  twisting  his  long 
tawny  mustache  in  angry  bewilderment ;  always  lirsrt 
by  the  same  dreary  doubt,  "Whether  it  was  worth  while 
to  come  up  all  the  way  from  Woolwich  for  this" — "this" 
meaning  a  passing  fan-salute,  or  careless  smile,  or  per- 
chance a  few  words,  to  which  all  the  world  might  have 
listened  and  been  none  the  wiser. 

Now,  the  thought  of  making  Blanche  Ellerslic  his  wife 
had  never  dwelt  for  an  instant  in  Major  Gauntlet's  mind. 
He  was  too  poor  a  man  to  dream  of  such  a  luxury,  and 
he  had  never  in  his  life  spoken  to  her  passionate  or  over- 
earnest  words;  but  he  was  really  attached  to  her  in  his 
own  fashion,  and  he  felt  their  estrangement  keenly.  Fur- 
thermore, putting  all  jealousies  aside, — he  was  fain  to 
confess  to  himself  that  be  was  jealous  at  last, — Oswald 
happened  to  have  heard  more  than  most  people  of  Mark 
Ramsay's  past  ;  and  lie  would  have  been  sorry  to  see 
any  woman,  for  whom  he  cared  ever  so  little,  given  over 
to  that  man's  keeping.  One  morning.  Major  (iauntlet 
went  to  lunch  in  Gaunt  Square,  with  the  fixed  resolve, 
if  he  found  opportunity,  to  take  heart  of  grace  and  say 
out  his  say. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  59 

La  Reine  Gaillarde  had  a  fine  instinct  in  such  matters, 
and  somehow  guessed  that  it  would  not  be  disagreeable 
to  one  of  her  guests  at  least  if  she  left  them  alone.  Any 
ordinary  flirtation  she  was  rather  inclined  to  countenance 
than  to  hinder ;  and  she  was  only  too  ready  to  aid  and 
abet  in  anything  that  might  possibly  weaken  Ramsay's 
growing  influence  over  Blanche  Ellerslie.  So,  when  they 
went  up-stairs  after  luncheon,  the  fair  widow  found  herself 
en  champ  clos,  with  no  possibility  of  escape  unless  by 
absolute  flight,  which  she  was  not  cowardly  enough  to 
contemplate.  Had  she  not  been  five  hundred  times  before 
alone  with  Oswald  Gauntlet,  and  was  it  not  too  utterly 
absurd  to  feel  awkward  now  ?  In  spite  of  all  this,  she 
felt  so  nervous  that  it  was  almost  a  relief  to  her  when  he 
actually  broke  ground. 

"I  have  been  waiting  for  this  chance  some  time, 
Blanche" — she  was  quite  a  girl  when  he  came  on  her 
father's  staff,  and  he  had  called  her  ever  since  by  her 
Christian  name — "and  I'm  not  going  to  waste  it  by  talk- 
ing nonsense  now.  You  know  pretty  well  how  much 
and  how  little  I  like  you  ;  and  you  know,  too,  whether 
I  have  deserved  to  be  dropped  as  I  have  been  of  late. 
Good  God  !  you're  not  going  to  deny  it?"  he  broke  out, 
almost  fiercely,  seeing  that  she  was  about  to  speak. 
"  Surely  we're  too  good  friends  still  to  begin  that  kind  of 
fencing.  I'm  not  going  to  quarrel  with  you  ;  and,  what's 
more,  I  don't  complain.  If  a  woman  chooses  that  old  ac- 
quaintance should  be  forgot,  she's  only  using  her  woman's 
privilege.  It's  of  your  new  acquaintance  I'm  going  to 
speak." 

Mrs.  Ellerslie  had  sat  a  picture  of  pretty  penitence  till 
now,  with  bowed  head  and  drooping  eyelashes  ;  at  those 
last  words,  she  drew  herself  up,  and  looked  straight  into 
Gauntlet's  face. 

"You  mean  Mr.  Ramsay,  I  suppose." 

"Could  I  mean  any  other?"  he  retorted.  "  Xow, 
Blanche,  just  be  patient  and  hear  me  out.  I  sha'n't  bore 
you  any  more,  after  to-day.  If  I  had  asked  you  to 
many  me,  any  time  when  you  were  free,  you'd  have  said, 
'  Xo,'  I  dare  say.  That's  neither  here  nor  there:  bur 
why  I  never  could  ask  you,  you  know  as  well  as  I  do. 


60  BREAKING   A    BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

When  I  heard  you  were  going  to  be  married  to  poor 
Ellerslie,  I  didn't  like  it  at  iirst,  but  I  never  grudgod 
him  his  luck ;  and  now,  if  I  heard  that  the  same  luck 
had  befallen  any  true  honest  man,  I  wouldn't  grudge  it 
him — I  wouldn't,  by  God!  But  I  should  grudge  it  to 
Uamsay;  for  I  don't  believe  he's  either  honest  or  true  " 

They  had  known  each  other  very  long,  and  Oswald 
had  often  amused  himself  with  teasing  the  pettish  little 
beauty ;  but  he  had  never  before  seen  real  anger  in  her 
eyes. 

"And  that  is  your  idea  of  truth  and  honesty,"  she  said, 
speaking  very  low — "to  revenge  yourself  for  neglect  that 
was  never  intended,  by  coming  here  to  say  to  me  what 
you  never  would  dare  to  say  to  him  ?" 

Major  Gauntlet  had  won  his  Cross,  not  by  a  single 
act  of  foolhardiuess,  but  by  repeated  proofs  of  disciplined 
valor  ;  and  he  could  well  have  afforded  to  pass  over  such 
a  suspicion  coming  from  a  man's  lips.  Coming  from  a 
woman's,  it  only  made  him  smile. 

"Wouldn't  I?"  he  said,  simply,  "you  are  a  very 
clever  woman,  Blanche  Ellerslie — accustomed  to  read 
men's  hearts,  and  all  the  rest  of  it — and  you  know  best, 
of  course.  Now,  I  fancied,  as  I  Jay  awake  this  morning, 
that  there  was  nothing  I  should  like  better  than  to  say 
to  Mark  Ramsay  what  I  say  to  you — that  he's  not  a  tit 
person  to  be  trusted  with  the  happiness  of  any  woman 
alive.  There's  not  the  least  necessity  for  your  telling  me 
I  have  no  right  to  interfere  between  him  and  you.  I'm 
perfectly  well  aware  of  that ;  and  another  taunt  like  that 
last  one  won't  make  me  forget  it;  but  I  wouldn't  talk 
too  much  about  'daring,'  if  I  were  you.  It's  bad  form, 
to  say  the  least  of  it." 

Blanche  was  thoroughly  ashamed  of  herself  long  before 
he  had  done  speaking. 

"Those  were  very  base  words  of  mine,"  she  said: 
"try  and  forget  them.  I  am  not  used  to  being  taken  to 
task,  and  every  one  seems  to  have  had  a  special  call 
to  do  it  lately;  I  thought  I  was  safe  with  you.  I  have 
never  known  you  so  hard  on  my  fredaines  before:  you 
might  look  sulky  at  first,  but  vou  always  laughed  at 
last." 


"HE   HAS  NEVER   ASKED   ME. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  61 

"I  wish  I  could  laugh  now,"  he  said.  "  I'm  doing  nc 
good  here,  I  see;  but,  Blanche,  for  old  acquaintance' 
sake,  answer  me  one  question ;  never  mind  whether  I've 
a  right  to  ask  it  or  not.  In  spite  of  all  you  have  heard  or 
may  hear,  do  you  mean  to  marry  Ramsay  ?" 

"  He  has  never  asked  me." 

The  sentence  meant  little,  but  the  shy,  conscious  look, 
and  the  trembling  of  the  voice,  meant — all.  The  other 
knew  that  darker  proofs  of  Ramsay's  unworthiness  than 
he  was  prepared  to  bring  forward,  would  only  embitter 
Blanche  against  himself,  without  turning  her  aside  one 
hair's-breadth  from  the  path  she  was  bent  on  pursuing, 
lie  rose  up,  with  both  her  tiny  hands  in  his  own ;  and 
his  handsome  face  was  very  pale,  though  he  strove  to 
speak  lightly. 

"  Don't  let  us  part  in  anger  because  I  was  fool  enough 
to  think  that  my  warning  would  not  come  too  late.  Per- 
haps you'll  need  a  friend  yet  before  you  die  ;  when  you 
do,  you'll  not  forget  me,  if  I'm  to  the  fore  ?  I  sha'n't 
see  much  of  you  for  some  months  to  come.  I've  been 
offered  to  go  on  this  commission  that  is  to  visit  all  the 
great  fortresses  and  camps  of  Europe — a  good  thing  for 
me,  in  more  ways  than  one,  just  now.  I  suppose  every- 
thing will  be  settled  before  I  come  back.  So — good-by, 
Blanche,  and  God  bless  you!" 

Oswald  Gauntlet  was  by  no  means  a  devout  man.  I 
fear  he  seldom  attended  public  worship  unless  on  duty  or 
some  such  sort  of  compulsion,  and  perhaps  was  not  always 
regular  in  his  private  orisons.  But  no  fanatic,  trailing 
himself  from  shrine  to  shrine,  ever  uttered  a  petition 
more  thoroughly  heartfelt  and  earnest  than  was  con- 
tained in  those  last  three  words.  Whether  that  prayer 
reached  the  base  of  the  Mercy-seat,  or  whether,  like  many 
petitions  formed  by  more  saintly  lips,  it  was  borne  idly 
away  by  one  of  the  winds  that  never  blow  in  heaven, 
you  will  know  hereafter  who  have  patience  to  read  to 
the  end. 

Thus  the  lady  was  left  in  possession  of  the  field, 
whereon,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  she  had  held  her  own. 
Yet  she  did  not  seem  triumphant  or  victorious,  as  she  sat 
there  with  her  face  buried  in  the  sofa-pillow  for  some 

C 


62  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

minutes,  after  she  was  left  alone.  When  she  looked  up 
again,  her  eyes  were  wet. 

Her  best  friends — Laura  Brancepeth,  for  example — 
called  her  a  cruel  coquette ;  yet  there  was  much  of  soft- 
ness, if  not  of  tenderness,  in  her  nature.  That  same 
inconsistency  has  been  noticed  in  much  more  famous 
criminals.  Mohammed's  cat,  and  Couthon's  lap-dog,  are 
matters  of  history;  and  Count  Fosco's  canary  has  always 
seemed  to  me  one  of  the  happiest  touches  in  a  very 
powerful  picture.  Though  she  had  wrought  so  much 
harm  in  her  time,  Blanche  had  never  with  malice  or  of 
aforethought  injured  any  living  thing.  Her  repentance 
was  not  keen  or  durable  enough  to  keep  her  from  falling 
into  fresh  temptation;  yet.  each  and  every  one  of  her 
victims  might  have  been  consoled  by  knowing  that 
Blanche's  heart  wore  for  him  a  decent  half-mourning. 
In  one  respect  Mrs.  Ellerslie  had  exceptional  luck. 
Among  womankind  she  had  enemies  not  a  few  ;  but  men 
— no  matter  what  wrong  they  bad  suffered  at  her  hands 
— seemed  incapable  of  nourishing  rancor  against  her ;  in 
almost  any  company  there  might  have  been  found  cham- 
pions ready  and  willing  to  buckler  her  good  name  against 
whomsoever  should  presume  to  assail  it.  She  was  really 
fond  of  her  cage-birds,  though  she  teased  them  so  ter- 
ribly ;  and  it  was  not  her  vanity  only  that  suffered,  when 
one  of  these  found  the  use  of  his  wings  and  escaped  from 
bondage. 

Major  Gauntlet  was  not  an  ordinary  pet.  Till  within 
the  last  two  months,  she  had  liked  and  admired  him 
more  than  any  one  she  had  known.  A  soldier's  daughter 
and  a  soldier's  wife,  she  was  able  to  appreciate  soldierly 
renown :  she  liked  to  think  that  she  had  at  her  beck  and 
call  one  whom  brave  hearts  were  proud  to  follow,  and  to 
carry  on  light  word-warfare  with  the  man  whose  name 
carried  terror  with  it  wherever  it  was  spoken  along  the 
northwestern  frontier  of  India.  Many  maids  and  matrons, 
since  Una  walked  in  forest-land,  have  found  it  pleasant 
pastime  to  dally  with  the  mane  of  a  couchaut  lion.  She 
knew  that  Oswald  had  left  her  not  in  anger,  and  that  sho 
might  count  on  his  friendship  now  and  always;  but  she 
knew,  too,  that  it  could  never  be  the  same  between  them 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE' S  ENDING.  63 

any  more,  and  that  the  ancient  intimacy — half  sportive, 
half  tender — had  that  day  gotten  its  death-blow. 

When,  after  discreet  absence,  Laura  Brancepeth  re- 
turned, she  found  Mrs.  Ellerslie  looking  so  sorrowful 
that  she  could  not  forbear  questioning. 

"There's  nothing  the  matter,"  Blanche  said,  with  a 
little  sob;  "only  I  do  so  hate  saying  good-by;  and  that 
is  what  Oswald  Gauntlet  came  here  to  say.  He's  going 
abroad,  for  I  don't  know  how  long,  on  some  stupid  com- 
mission or  another." 

Now,  La  Reine  Gaillarde  had  an  implicit  belief  in  the 
dashing  horse-gunner — not  in  matters  martial  alone — 
and  had  reckoned  rather  confidently  on  him  as  a  counter- 
agent  on  the  present  occasion.  It  was  provoking  to  her 
that  he  had  so  readily  beaten  retreat  and  left  the  field 
clear  for  other  invading  forces. 

"  Rather  a  sudden  resolution,  wasn't  it?  It  was  only 
the  night  before  last,  that  Major  Gauntlet  was  talking  to 
me  about  his  summer  plans;  and  traveling  on  the  con- 
tinent was  certainly  not  one  of  them.  I  wouldn't  worry 
myself  too  much  about  saying  good-by,  Blanche,  if  I  wort,1 
you.  You'll  have  to  say  it,  sooner  or  later,  to  more  than 
one  old  friend,  I  fancy.  It's  to  be  hoped  the  new  ones 
will  make  you  amends." 

It  was  not  often  that  Mrs.  Ellerslie  was  at  a  loss  for  a 
reply;  but  now  she  could  frame  none, — unless  a  low  re- 
proachful whisper,  "  Oh,  Queenie!"  could  be  called  such, 
— and  escaped  to  her  own  room. 

Those  two  were  very  silent  during  their  drive.  When 
they  drew  up  under  their  favorite  tree  in  the  Mile,  the 
least  observant  of  her  courtiers  saw  that  something  had 
ruffled  the  quick  temper  of  La  Reine  Gaillarde;  and  the 
most  successful  of  those  who  strove  to  engross  Mrs. 
Ellerslie's  attention  was  scarcely  rewarded  with  a  languid 
smile.  While  that  especial  carriage  halted,  there  was 
always  a  kind  of  circle  round  it;  but,  by  some  strange 
coincidence,  one  familiar  face  was  missing — the  face  of 
Mark  Ramsay. 


64  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OB, 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"AND  is  this  your  last — your  very  last — answer?" 
Mark  Ramsay  spoke  quite  calmly,  almost  unconcern- 
edly ;  yet  his  thoughts  were  very  bitter  just  then.  He 
had  very  seldom  left  on  the  board  the  stake  in  any  game 
on  the  winning  of  which  he  had  thoroughly  set  his 
heart's  desire — so  seldom,  indeed,  that  nine  men  out  of 
ten,  on  the  strength  of  their  evil  success,  would  have 
grown  overweening  in  confidence.  But  Mark  was  none 
of  these.  He  deemed  that  the  devil's  luck,  like  any  other 
luck,  would  run  itself  out  at  last,  and  was  prepared  at 
any  moment  to  see  the  intermittence  set  in.  From  per- 
sonal vanity,  pure  and  simple,  he  was,  as  has  been  afore- 
said, singularly  free;  and  he  could  calculate  his  own 
chances  of  success  or  failure  just  as  coolly  as  if  he  had 
been  looking  over  a  third  person's  game.  All  this  only 
made  him  feel  his  present  disappointment  more  keenly. 
He  had  never  been  more  sure  of  any  one  thing  in  his  life 
than  of  Blanche  Ellerslie's  assent  whenever  he  should 
ask  her  to  marry  him. 

He  knew  perfectly  well  with  what  manner  of  woman 
he  was  dealing,  and  was  prepared  from  the  first  to  meet 
all  the  wiles  of  finished  coquetry.  But  over  the  perfec- 
tion of  any  art  whatsoever,  Nature  will  sometimes  pre- 
vail. Smiles  may  be  feigned,  glances  be  tutored,  and 
voices  be  trained  to  tremble;  but  Cleopatra  herself, 
though  she  might  counterfeit  a  blush,  could  not  summon 
up  at  will  the  faint,  tender  glow  of  happiness  which,  at 
the  sound  of  a  certain  footstep  or  the  glimpse  of  a  certain 
figure,  has  caused  ere  now  many  ill-favored  faces  to  wax 
for  the  nonce  pleasant  and  comely.  For  such  signs 
Ramsay's  practiced  eyes  had  watched  often  and  earn- 
estly of  late,  and  had  not  watched  in  vain.  He  could  not 
accuse  himself  of  being  precipitate  now  in  pressing  his 
suit.  And  what  manner  of  answer  had  he  just  listened 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  65 

to?  It  was  not  an  absolute  refusal;  but  still  less  was 
it  one  of  those  feminine  Nays  concerning  which  so  many 
pleasant  conceits  have  been  indited  both  in  poesy  and 
prose.  The  plea  for  delay  was  too  earnestly  urged,  and 
too  steadily  persisted  in,  to  be  set  down  to  coy  subter- 
fuge. 

That  delays  are  dangerous,  none  knew  better  than 
Mark  Ramsay.  If  a  fortress  to  which  he  laid  siege 
could  not  be  carried  at  once,  he  guessed  that  its  defenses 
were  not  likely  to  be  weakened  by  the  according  of  a 
truce.  Nevertheless,  within  that  same  fortress  much 
doubt  and  difficulty  prevailed  just  now. 

Mrs.  Ellerslie  was,  in  all  ways,  of  the  world  worldly ; 
yet  the  veriest  country-girl,  hovering  on  the  verge  of 
first  love,  could  not  be  more  single-minded  in  intent 
than  Blanche  had  been  of  late.  Not  one  mercenary 
motive  entered  into  her  preference  for  Mark  Ramsay. 
She  might  have  landed  quite  as  heavy,  if  not  heavier, 
fish  ere  now,  if  she  had  cared  to  work  the  waters  where 
the  big  trout  lie  more  patiently;  but  she  had  wealth 
more  than  sufficient  to  satisfy  all  her  whims,  and,  as  yet, 
had  never  been  seriously  tempted  to  exchange  the  free- 
dom of  the  Allee  des  Veuves  for  any  prison  whatsoever, 
even  if  the  walls  were  of  jasper  and  the  gates  of 
wrought  gold.  As  for  ambition — that  is  another  affair. 
Blanche  was  too  thorough  a  woman  not  to  savor  triumph 
in  holding  at  her  discretion  the  "stag  of  ten,"  against 
whom  younger  and  fairer  huntresses  had  emptied  their 
quivers  in  vain.  She  was  well  aware  that  many  matrons, 
who  turned  indignantly  away  from  Mark  Ramsay  linger- 
ing at  her  side,  would  have  found  gracious  glances  for 
him,  lounging  in  their  own  drawing-rooms;  and  that  the 
pity  they  feigned  to  feel  for  her  would  scarce  have  been 
extended  to  their  own  daughters,  had  these  been  exposed 
to  like  temptation ;  she  was  keenly  alive,  too,  to  the 
delight  of  successful  rivalry.  But,  putting  all  these 
incitements  aside,  she  felt  for  Mark  Ramsay  what  she 
had  never  felt  for  any  man,  alive  or  dead.  It  was  not 
only  a  strong  liking,  but  a  growing  sense  of  dependence 
which  almost  frightened  her,  intensely  pleasant  though 
it  was.  From  her  girlhood  upward,  she  had  scoffed 
E  6* 


66  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

pitilessly  at  the  substance  of  Love,  though  she  had  ever 
been  coquetting  with  his  shadow;  but  she  felt  misgivings 
now,  lest  she  should  have  been  over-rash  in  her  gay 
defiance.  Yet,  had  the  choice  been  given  her,  she  would 
not  have  drawn  back  one  step  on  the  road  that  seemed 
to  trend  toward  the  house  of  bondage. 

All  this  being  premised,  it  seems  hard  to  understand 
why  she  should  hesitate  and  plead  for  delay  when  Mark 
asked  for  her  hand.  It  was  scarcely  prudence  withheld 
her ;  but  rather  one  of  those  presentiments  that  are  such 
true  prophets,  though  they  speak  more  darkly  than  the 
Oracles,  whose  utterances  were  whispered  on  the  winds 
of  Dodona  or  through  the  smoke  of  Delphi.  All  the 
warnings  that  she  had  put  aside  and  tried  to  forget 
came  back  upon  her  now,  aild  she  could  not  drive  them 
away.  The  friends  who  had  spoken  those  warnings 
might  not  have  been  very  safe  counselors  as  a  rule,  and 
certainly  were  little  apt  to  preach;  but  she  knew  that 
they  had  spoken  honestly  for  her  good — ay,  and  not 
without  sound  reason. 

"Not  fit  to  be  trusted  with  the  happiness  of  any  woman 
alive." 

How  sharply  she  had  checked  Oswald  Gauntlet  when 
he  spoke  these  words !  But  her  heart  heard  them  over 
again,  sleeping  or  waking,  often  enough  since.  They 
rang  in  her  ears  like  a  church-bell,  that  never  wearies  of 
its  message  of  truth  and  kindness  to  sinners,  whether 
they  will  hearken  or  not.  From  the  first  moment  when 
she  looked  on  her  suitor's  face,  she  had  tried  to  believe 
that  much  of  the  ill  report  concerning  him  was  idle  gos- 
sip or  scandal :  yet,  at  this  very  moment,  she  remembered 
that  without"  fire  there  is  no  smoke ;  and  that  creatures 
more  innocent  than  herself — innocent  as  the  children  thai 
were  burned  before  Moloch — might  ere  now  have  passed 
through  the  furnace  of  Mark  Ramsay's  evil  passions. 

It  was  very  true  that  the  love  he  now  proffered  brought 
with  it  no  shame;  nevertheless,  the  gift  might  be  fatal. 
On  men  of  his  stamp,  vows  arc  not  more  binding  because 
they  have  been  spoken  before  an  altar.  Spirits  so  hard 
to  tame  stand  in  small  awe  of  a  simple  wedding-ring. 
Moreover,  if  the  Talmud  speak  true,  the  talisman  whereby 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  6t 

King  Solomon  controlled  the  Djinns  could  not  save  him 
from  betrayal  by  the  fair  Shulamile. 

Warning1  and  presentiment  availed  just  so  much  as  to 
make  her  hesitate — no  more.  For  her  life  she  could  not 
have  spoken  the  words  that  would  have  sent  Mark 
Ramsay  away  from  her  forever.  When  he  said,  "Is 
this  your  very  last  answer?"  she  could  only  look  up  at 
him  timidly,  murmuring, — 

"  You  must  not  be  angry ;  you  must  be  patient.  If 
you  knew  all  I  have  heard,  you  would  not  wonder." 

His  face  began  to  harden. 

"  Rare  tales,  I  dare  be  sworn.  With  all  the  talent  for 
invention  that  is  abroad,  it's  very  odd  better  novels  are 
not  written  nowadays.  And  do  you  think  it  is  only 
about  me  that  fabliaux  are  made?  I  find  it  so  much 
pleasanter  to  take  people  as  I  find  them,  instead  of  on 
hearsay ;  and  so  much  wiser  not  to  trouble  myself  with 
what  happened  before  my  time.  But  if  one  were  to 

believe  half  one  hears Mrs.  Ellerslie,  as  you  are  so 

fond  of  listening  to  stories,  I'll  tell  you  one.     It's  not 
very  sensational ;  but  it's  true. 

."When  people  told  you  so  much  about  my  past,  did 
they  tell  you  that  some  time  ago  I  spent  twelve  months 
in  India?  No  ?  It  was  so,  nevertheless.  I  was  a  poor 
man  in  those  days,  and  xrnly  too  thankful  to  be  set  for- 
ward on  my  road,  or  helped  in  getting  at  the  big  game. 
I  had  heard  a  good  deal  of  Indian  hospitality  before  I 
started;  I  was  not  prepared  for  half  the  kindness  I  met 
with.  With  one  regiment  in  particular,  I  lived  nearly 
three  months,  at  free  quarters, — the  — th  Hussars,  who 
were  quartered  at  Meerut.  The  day  before  I  was  to 
leave  them  to  return  home,  sitting  alone  with  the  Chief 
in  his  bungalow,  I  naturally  offered  to  execute  any  com- 
mission for  him  or  for  any  other  comrade. 

"'Well,  there's  one  thing  you  might  do,'  Colonel 
Neville  said,  'but  I  hardly  like  to  ask  you,  though  it 
would  please  several  others  in  the  regiment  besides  me. 
There's  one  of  ours  whom  you  have  never  seen  yet, 
though  you've  heard  him  talked  over  often  enough,  for 
he's  been  on  the  sick-list  since  you  came  here.  It's  a 
very  sad  case.  We  liked  what  we  saw  of  him  immensely, 


68  BREAKING   A    BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

when  he  joined,  and  thought  we  had  got  a  real  acquisi- 
tion; but  I  don't  think  he  has  done  ten  days'  duty  since, 
nor  dined  a  dozen  times  at  mess.  He  was  very  shaky 
from  the  first,  and  he's  never  given  himself  half  a  chance 
since ;  for  he  does  nothing  but  mope  in  his  bungalow, 
smoking  like  a  chimney,  and,  I'm  very  much  afraid, 
drinking  to  match.  He  don't  look  fit  to  travel,  and  seems 
to  hate  the  idea  of  going  home  ;  but  the  doctor  says  the 
sea-voyage  is  his  last  chance.  He  was  very  loath  to 
move;  so  I  got  his  sick-leave  without  consulting  him, 
and  he  starts  to-morrow.  Now,  if  you  are  not  in  any 
great  hurry — you  haven't  taken  your  passage  yet,  I 
know — I  thought  perhaps  you  wouldn't  mind  looking 
after  him  as  far  as  Calcutta.  You'll  Jiave  to  travel 
slower,  of  course;  but  otherwise  he  won't  be  much 
trouble:  he's  as  gentle  as  a  girl  in  his  ways,  spite  of  the 
drink.' 

"  An  act  of  simple  charity  was  not  much  return  for  all 
the  kindness  I  had  met  with  there.  So  I  said ;  and  so 
it  was  settled.  I  did  not  see  my  traveling-companion  till 
I  called  for  him  at  his  bungalow  next  evening.  I  thought 
I  had  seldom  looked  on  a  handsomer  face,  though  death 
was  written  on  it  very  plainly ;  and  I  was  quite  struck 
by  the  pleasantness  of  his  voice  as  he  said  good-by  to 
his  comrades;  for  every  officer-of  the  regiment  was  there 
to  see  him  off.  Beyond  a  few  sentences  of  commonplace 
courtesy  exchanged  then,  very  few  words  passed  between 
us  that  night;  and,  when  we  reached  our  first  halting- 
place,  he  seemed  so  tired  that  I  did  not  tempt  him  to 
talk. 

"  There  were  no  railways  in  those  days.  Traveling 
was  done  by  dawk-gharries.t  You  travel  always  by  night, 
resting,  if  there's  no  necessity  to  push  forward,  during 
the  heat  of  the  day.  I  saw  scarcely  anything  of  my 
traveling-companion  except  at  meals,  at  which  he  made 
a  mere  pretense  of  eating,  and  then  betook  himself  to  lie 
down  again  in  his  own  room  till  it  was  time  to  start. 
He  did  not  seem  inclined  to  talk,  but  his  manner  was 
always  winning,  and  he  seemed  very  grateful  to  me  for 
lingering  with  him  on  the  road.  So  it  went  on,  till  we 
halted  on  the  sixth  day  at  a  lonely  station  beyond  Benares. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  69 

When  he  got  out  of  his  gharry,  he  seemed  scarce  able  to 
walk  into  the  dawk  bungalow,  and  said  he  would  try  to 
sleep,  for  he  could  swallow  no  food.  So  I  breakfasted 
alone,  and  afterward  began  to  doze.  I  woke  up  with  a 
start — feeling  sure  that  there  was  some  one  in  the  room 
near  me,  though  I  had  not  heard  the  door  open. 

"  My  companion  stood  there,  resting  his  hand  on  the 
table  and  swaying  to  and  fro.  The  sun-blinds  were  closely 
drawn  and  the  room  was  very  dark;  yet  I  could  see  his 
face — deathly  white — and  the  gleaming  of  his*great  black 
eyes.  From  certain  significant  words  dropped  by  my 
bearer  I  guessed  what  his  habits  had  been  throughout 
the  journey,  and  delirium  tremens  was  the  first  idea  that 
crossed  my  mind. 

"'I'm  not  drunk!'  he  said,  as  though  he  read  my 
thoughts  ;  '  I'm  dying,  that's  all ;  and  I — I  daren't  die 
alone.' 

"  I  sprang  up  just  in  time  to  catch  him  in  my  arms  as 
he  stumbled  forward;  and  I  laid  him  down  on  my  couch, 
from  which  he  never  stirred  again.  There  are  times,  I 
believe,  when  a  man  must  speak — even  to  a  dog  or  his 
worst  enemy — rather  than  keep  silence  altogether.  So  it 
came  to  pass  that  I,  a  mere  chance-acquaintance,  heard 
his  last  confession,  spoken  slowly  and  painfully  in  the 
lulls  between  the  heart-spasms.  I  dare  say  the  story  is 
very  dry  and  old  ;  but  I  never  listened  to  one  quite  like 
it,  and  it  made  rather  a  strong  impression  on  me.  I  re- 
member it  almost  word  for  word. 

"He  had  served,  till  he  got  his  lieutenancy,  in  a  heavy- 
dragoon  regiment ;  and  during  those  three  years  met  a 
woman,  who — unwittingly,  as  I  thoroughly  believe — 
turned  all  the  current  of  his  life  awry.  Neither  did  he 
accuse  her.  He  accused  only  his  own  folly,  for  having 
been  so  bewitched. 

"  '  She  was  only  in  play,'  he  said  ;  '  and  she  could  not 
guess  that  it  was  playing  the  devil  with  me.  She  would 
not  have  soiled  the  tip  of  her  little  finger  for  my  sake  ; 
and  there's  no  sin  or  shame  on  earth  that  I  would  not 
have  worked  out  at  the  beck  of  that  same  finger.  I  never 
told  her  as  much.  I  don't  think  I  ever  said  a  syllable  to 
her  that  her  husband  might  not  have  listened  to.  And 


70  BREAKING   A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

this  is  how  we  parted.  I  was  going  on  leave  to  see  after 
some  of  my  mother's  affairs,  that  ought  to  have  been  at- 
tended to  long  before :  I  should  not  have  gone  even  then  ; 
but  she  knew  how  things  stood  with  me,  and  would  have 
it  so. 

'"To  reward  me  for  being  "dutiful  and  obedient,"  I 
was  to  have  as  many  waltzes  as  I  chose  at  a  dance  that 
came  off  at  barracks  that  night.  I  had  heaps  to  do  ;  but 
I  managed  to  get  there  just  as  the  first  quadrille  was  over. 
She  was  sitting  in  an  out-of-the-way  corner,  talking  very 
earnestly  to  a  man  whom  I  had  never  seen  before,  though 
I  had  heard  his  name  often  enough  ;  for,  to  give  him  his 
due,  I  believe  there's  no  better  soldier.  I  felt  hot  and 
savage,  and  then  sick  at  heart,  before  she  spoke. 

"  '  I  wasn't  to  be  furious.  When  she  promised  me  those 
unlimited  waltzes,  she  had  reckoned  without  Oswald 
Gauntlet,  who  was  a  very,  very  old  friend  ;  and  old  friends 
were  so  exacting.  He  had  traveled  a  long  way  to  be 
there  that  night;  and  she  had  been  weak  enough  to  pro- 
mise him  the  first  waltz  and  galop  at  all  events.  Apres, 
on  verrait. 

"  '  I  felt  very  dizzy  just  then  ;  yet  not  so  dizzy,  but,  as 
I  turned  away,  I  heard  him  say,  with  a  half  laugh,  "  It's 
hard  lines  on  him  too,  poor  boy." 

"  '  And  she  laughed  too,  as  she  answered, — 

" '  "  You  were  always  fond  of  children,  Oswald — fonder 
than  I  am.  Shall  I  call  back  my  pretty  page  ?" 

"  '  Those  were  the  last  words  I  ever  heard  her  speak ; 
and  I  never  saw  her  face  again.  I  got  away  to  my  quar- 
ters somehow  ;  and  I  got  through  the  night — well,  very 
much  as  I  have  got  through  most  nights  since,  and  the 
first  thing  I  did  after  getting"  to  London  was  to  arrange1 
an  exchange  into  the  — th  Hussars.  I  never  went 
near  the  old  regiment  again  ;  and  I  never  answered  the 
letter  she  wrote  when  she  heard  I  was  going  to  India, 
though  I  did  answer  the  postscript  her  husband  added. 
He  was  a  rough  old  martinet,  but  he  had  been  really  kind 
to  me.  I  thought  I  should  get  rid  of  her  by  coming  out 
here ;  but  I  haven't.  The  drink  that  has  killed  me  has 
only  driven  her  away  for  an  hour  or  two.  And  now — 
well,  there's  my  mother,  who  has  petted  me  since  I  was 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  71 

born,  and  who  will  break  her  heart  when  she  hears  of 
this.  If  one  of  the  two  could  come  and  sit  beside  me 
now,  it  would  not  be  the  mother  I'd  choose.  Look  here : 
you're  a  real  good  fellow,  from  all  I  have  heard'  (I  am 
speaking  by  rote,  you  know,  Mrs.  JMlerslie),  'and  I  know 
I  can  trust  you.  You'll  see  this  buried  with  me ;  and  not 
let  any  of  those  black  devils,  handle  it.' 

"  He  drew  out  from  his  breast  a  broad  gold  locket  in  a 
double  case.  There  was  a  photograph  in  the  front;  at  the 
back  a  tiny  scrap  of  paper  with  the  word  '  Dear.' 

"'It's  very  absurd,'  he  went  on,  'very  childish,  she 
would  have  culled  it.  I  cut  it  out  of  a  common  invita- 
tion-note: I  thought  it  looked  so  well  in  her  handwriting. 
Now  you  shall  hear  her  name.' 

"  He  drew  my  ear  down  close  to  his  mouth. 

"  'If  ever  you  get  a  chance,  I  should  like  you  to  tell 
her  that  I  said,  "God  bless  her!" — now.' 

"  Those  were  very  nearly  the  last  words  he  spoke  in- 
telligibly, for  the  spasms  came  on  sharper  and  stronger 
till  half  an  hour  after  he  was  dead.  Mrs.  Ellerslie,  it's 
just  possible  you've  guessed  already  that  this  man's  name 
was  Harry  Armar ;  and  whose  face  was  in  his  locket ; 
and  why  I  have  broken  no  confidence  in  telling  you  this 
story." 

Guessed  it  ?  Yes,  she  had  done  that  long  ago.  Eyes 
less  keen  than  those  that  looked  down  on  her  might  have 
read  so  much,  even  before  she  started  at  the  mention  of 
Oswald  Gauntlet's  name.  She  had  often  felt  mild  peni- 
tence and  self-reproach  ;  but  real  remorse,  never  till  now. 
For  a  moment  she  was  as  much  shocked  and  startled  as 
if  she  had  been  brought  suddenly  into  a  chamber  where 
a  corpse  was  lying.  She  remembered  the  brave,  hand- 
some boy  so  well ;  remembered  how  she  had  laughed  that 
night  at  what  she  deemed  his  pettish  anger;  how  sure 
she  had  made  of  his  coming  back  to  her  lure ;  how  sur- 
prised she  had  been  when  she  heard  of  his  exchange  to 
India  ;  how  vexed  when  no  anssver  came  to  her  farewell 
letter  ;  how  grieved  when  she  heard  of  his  death.  How 
different  all  would  have  been,  had  she  known  then  what 
she  knew  now  !  She  bowed  her  head  in  silence  for  a 
minute  or  two  ;  and  when  she  spoke  it  was  low'  and 
brokenly. 


72  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

"  I  have  done  deadly  harm,  though  I  never  meant  it, 
God  knows.  But  I  scarcely  deserve  that  the  pain  should 
come  from  you.  Could  you  not  have  told  me  this  sooner, 
or — later  ?" 

"  I  never  thought  of  punishment,"  Mark  answered, 
"  for  I  never  thought  that  you  deserved  it.  Perhaps  I'm 
not  a  fair  judge ;  but,  you'll  remember,  I  believed  from 
the  first  all  the  harm  had  been  done  unwittingly.  You 
were  amusing  yourself  as  hundreds  of  women  do :  the  only 
pity  was,  that  you  found  out  a  little  too  late  with  what  a 
brittle  toy  you  were  playing.  I  should  fancy  poor  Armar 
was  not  organized  to  stand  the  wear  and  tear  of  every- 
day life  long,  even  if  he  bad  never  crossed  your  path. 
Only  think  what  gaps  would  be  made  in  society,  if  men 
in  general,  on  finding  out  they  had  mistaken  jest  for 
earnest,  were  to  flee  to  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth 
to  drown  their  disappointment  in  strong  drink!  I  told 
you  all  this,  partly  because  I  was  in  a  fashion  bound  to 
tell  you  some  time  or  other  ;  but  more  because  I  wished 
you  to  understand  that  I  ask  no  more  than  I  offer,  when 
I  ask  you  to  let  the  past  bury  its  dead.  For  now — with 
this  story,  which  some  good-natured  friends  would  work 
up  into  a  'sensation,'  fresh  from  my  lips  —  I  ask  you, 
once  more,  to  cast  in  your  lot  with  mine." 

For  the  last  few  minutes  Mark  had  kept  his  eyes  averted 
from  his  companion's  face,  as  though  willing  to  give  her 
time  to  recover  herself.  Before  he  looked  at  her  again, 
he  knew  that  he  had  won  the  day.  As  he  finished  speak- 
ing, a  soft  hand  crept  into  his  palm,  and  was  content  to 
be  clasped  ;  and,  as  their  lips  met,  Blanche  Ellerslie  knew 
of  a  surety  that  she  had  found  her  heart  at  last. 

When  a  woman  of  her  experience — though  she  was 
comparatively  young  in  years — makes  this  discovery  so 
late,  it  is  by  no  means  certain  that  it  is  for  her  happiness 
it  is  made.  It  is  the  old  story,  of  the  peasant  suddenly 
made  rich,  by  lighting  on  a  treasure  hidden  in  the  ground 
that  he  has  delved  for  years.  There  is  great  joy  at  first 
over  the  new-gotten  wealth  ;  but  the  cares  and  fears  of 
guardianship  follow  soon;  and  there  will  be  heard  never 
more  the  light-hearted  lilting  and  ready  laughter  that 
mudo  the  cottage  merry,  when  it  held  nothing  that  thieves 
would  break  through  to  steal. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  73 

Theirs  was  a  strange  wooing — strange  even  for  these 
days,  wherein  sentiment  does  not  greatly  abound.  Scarcely 
a  word  of  tenderness  passed  between  the  two  before  they 
were  irrevocably  plighted;  and  such  as  believe  in  omens 
might  have  noted  as  an  evil  augury  that  sharp  stings  of 
remorse  were  tingling  in  Blanche  Ellerslie's  breast,  when 
she  betrothed  herself  to  a  man  who  brought  her  a  mes- 
sage from  the  'dead. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

LAURA  BRANCEPETH  could  not  affect  surprise  at  the 
news  that  greeted  her  when  she  came  in  from  driving. 
Nevertheless,  she  was  exceeding  wroth,  and,  as  was  her 
wont  on  such  occasions,  spoke  somewhat  unadvisedly 
with  her  lips.  Blanche  was  too  happy  just  then  to  quar- 
rel with  any  one — much  less  with  a  real  friend.  The 
sharp  words  only  made  her  smile  ;  and  she  answered  as 
serenely  as  if  she  had  received  the  warmest  congratula- 
tions. 

"  I'm  very  sorry,  dear.  You'd  have  liked  me  to  have 
married  some  great  church  dignitary,  I  do  believe.  But 
I  don't  know  any  bachelor  bishop ;  and,  though  the  Dean 
of  Torrcaster  is  a  widower,  I  could  not  have  become  bone 
of  his  bone  even  to  please  you.  For  my  part,  I  think 
it's  better  for  like  to  match  with  like — sinners  with  sin- 
ners, and  saints  with  saints.  Besides,  Mark  and  I  have 
sown  all  our  wild-oats ;  and  we  shall  do  nothing  henceforth 
but  quiet  family  gardening." 

Laura  Brancepeth  had  the  outline  in  her  mind  of  a  re- 
tort at  once  scriptural  and  severe,  relating  to  seeds  and 
tares,  and  reaping  the  whirlwind;  but  she  got  her  meta- 
phor into  a  tangle,  and  so  gave  it  up ;  contenting  herself 
with  observing  that  "she  didn't  believe  in  sudden  con- 
versions, but  that  she  was  tired  of  preaching,  and  only 
hoped  the  other  would  not  one  day  have  cause  to  remem- 
ber her  sermons  when  it  was  too  late." 


t4  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

Mrs.  Ellerslie's  face  put  on  the  caressing  look  that 
women,  no  less  than  men,  found  it  hard  to  withstand. 

"  Too  late  to  warn,  perhaps,"  she  said  ;  "  but,  Queenie, 
not  too  late  to  wish  me  happy.  No  one  would  be  sorrier 
than  you,  I  know,  if  your  prophecies  were  by  any  chance 
to  come  true." 

Lady  Laura's  gusts  of  temper  never  lasted  long.  She 
stooped  and  kissed  her  friend  very  affectionately. 

"  I  do  wish  you  happy,  dear,  from  the  bottom  of  my 
heart;  and,  if  you  should  ever  come  to  confess  to  me 
that  it  was  otherwise,  I  promise  you  that  I  won't  answer 
with  '  I  told  you  how  it  would  be. ' " 

La  Reine  Gaillarde  never  could  bear  malice  for  having 
been  worsted  in  fair  fight.  She  had  done  her  very  utter- 
most to  thwart  and  countermine  Mark  Ramsay ;  but,  now 
that  he  had  finally  prevailed,  she  was  as  ready  to  shake 
hands  as  if  she  had  been  throughout  his  warmest  partisan. 
When  they  next  met,  she  greeted  him  quite  cordially, 
making  him  free  of  her  house  at  all  canonical  hours,  and 
entered  with  great  energy  and  good  will  into  all  prepara- 
tions for  Blanche's  marriage. 

There  was  much  lawyer's  work  to  be  done;  for  Mrs. 
Ellerslie  was  by  no  means  a  portionless  bride,  and  Mark's 
liberality  in  point  of  settlements  needed  rather  the  check 
than  the  spur.  As  a  poor  man  he  had  always  been  frt-c- 
handed  to  a  fault;  and  wealth  had  not  made  him  miserly, 
or  even  careful  to  count  the  cost.  In  all  this,  beyond  a 
few  timid  objections  to  excess  of  generosity,  Blanche 
took  little  concern  ;  but,  when  she  was  asked  to  choose 
her  trustee,  she  named,  without  hesitation,  a  cousin  of 
the  late  Colonel  Ellerslie,  and  principal  executor  of  his 
will.  She  had  seen  comparatively  little  of  George  An- 
struther;  but  she  knew  that  her  husband  trusted  im- 
plicitly in  his  judgment  and  honor,  and  more  than  once 
had  sought  his  advice  and  assistance.  Since  she  became 
a  widow,  she  had  always  found  him  ready  and  willing  to 
assist  her  in  business  matters,  of  which  she  was  ignorant 
as  a  child. 

Mr.  Anstruther  had  gone  out,  when  comparatively 
young,  to  a  lucrative  appointment  in  India;  interest  was 
more  powerful  then  than  it  is  nowadays,  and  the  cadets 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLTE'S  ENDING.  75 

of  certain  families — unless  actually  deficient  in  ability — 
had  a  kind  of  hereditary  claim  to  rapid  advancement. 
He  was  a  just  and  upright  man,  and  would  have  scorned 
to  exact  a  doit  more  than  his  due  either  from  rich  or  poor; 
but  saving  withal,  with  a  shrewd,  sagacious  eye  for  all 
legitimate  chances  of  increasing  his  store,  and  well  able 
to  sift  the  chaff  from  the  grain  in  the  tempting  specula- 
tions that  even  then  were  rife  in  the  East.  So  it  was 
not  wonderful  that  at  the  age  of  forty-five — some  six 
years  before  the  opening  of  this  story — he  was  enabled 
to  retire  with  a  fortune  that,  added  to  his  pension,  was 
affluence  to  one  of  his  tastes. 

From  the  morning  when  George  Anstruther  sailed  out 
of  the  Downs,  to  the  evening  when  he  saw  the  points  of 
the  Needles  glimmering  white  through  the  twilight,  he 
had  never  once  set  foot  on  English  ground.  Absence  of 
less  than  a  quarter  of  a  century  will  make  most  men  feel 
aliens  at  first  in  their  birth-land  ;  with  some,  this  feeling 
of  estrangement  never  quite  wears  away.  So  it  was 
with  Anstruther.  For  many  years  he  had  lived  almost 
entirely  alone;  for  his  station,  though  an  important  one, 
lay  far  up  the  country,  out  of  the  line  of  traffic ;  and  the 
scanty  European  society  that  lay  within  his  reach  had 
rather  repelled  than  attracted  him.  Solitude  had  not 
made  him  morose  or  eccentric;  but  it  had  fostered  the 
shy  reserve  natural  to  him.  His  habits  were  too  set  now 
to  be  altered  greatly  by  change  of  clime. 

His  living  relatives  were  singularly  few,  and  even  with 
the  nearest  of  these  he  had  corresponded  but  rarely ;  so, 
when  he  landed  in  England,  there  were  none  who  would 
have  traveled  far  to  bid  him  "Welcome  home."  An- 
struther did  not  feel  this  isolation  as  many  would  have 
done.  Perhaps  he  rather  rejoiced  that  absence  of  any 
family  ties  left  him  free  to  'live  after  his  own  fashion, 
without  seeming  ungracious  toward  his  kinsfolk.  He 
paid  a  few  duty-visits  in  the  first  few  months  after  he 
landed;  but  these  were  made  as  brief  as  possible,  and 
were  never  repeated.  Before  the  year  was  out,  he  had 
established  himself  in  a  house  on  the  northwestern  bor- 
der of  St.  John's  Wood — very  modest  in  appearance,  but 
sufficiently  capacious  to  hold  him  and  his  belongings; 


76  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

and  with  ground  enough  around  it  to  prevent  the  possi- 
bility of  being  hemmed  in  or  overlooked.  Other  reasons, 
besides  a  fancy  for  seclusion,  guided  Anstruther  in  the 
choice  of  a  dwelling.  For  some  time  past  chemistry  had 
been  his  favorite  pursuit;  and  he  had  no  mind  that  any 
timid  or  sensitive  neighbor  should  take  out  an  "injunc- 
tion" against  his  laboratory. 

Most  of  his  Indian  contemporaries — less  lucky  or  less 
prudent  than  himself — were  still  toiling  on  out  yonder ; 
so  in  London  he  found  few  personal  friends.  Neverthe- 
less, he  became  a  member  without  difficulty  of  the  two 
clubs  into  which  he  sought  admission — the  Planet  and 
the  Orion.  At  one  of  these  he  was  sure  of  a  faultless 
dinner ;  at  the  other,  sure  of  finding  scope  for  the  display 
of  his  rare  skill  at  whist  and  piquet.  Beyond  some  half- 
dozen  fevers,  that  had  left  no  seeds  of  disease  behind,  he 
had  never  known  what  sickness  meant;  but  his  daily 
routine  was  as  regular  as  if  he  had  been  condemned  to 
live  by  rule. 

Winter  or  summer,  he  breakfasted  always  at  nine; 
then  came  a  huge  cheroot,  and  the  reading  of  the  morn- 
ing paper ;  then  work  in  the  laboratory  till  about  noon. 
Then,  no  matter  what  the  weather  might  be  outside,  he 
went  out  on  horseback  for  two  hours,  neither  less  nor 
more;  never  through  the  streets  or  in  the  Row,  but 
straight  out  into  the  country — not  dawdling  along  on  a 
leisurely  constitutional,  but  riding  quite  as  sharply  as 
was  good  for  the  legs  and  wind  of  the  cattle  that  carried 
him.  He  gave  great  prices  for  his  hacks;  and  was  too 
good  a  judge  not  to  get  his  money's  worth.  When  he 
came  in,  he  changed  his  dress  completely — solitude  had 
not  made  him  the  least  of  a  sloven — and  drove  down  to 
the  Orion,  where  he  played  whist  or  piquet  till  seven. 
After  dressing  again,  unless  there  were  special  reasons 
for  the  contrary,  he  dined  at  the  Planet.  Though  he 
never  offered  to  join  any  other  party,  he  seldom  dined 
alone.  There  was  generally  some  one  ready  to  take  the 
second  place  at  the  corner-table  to  which,  ere  long,  he 
acquired  a  prescriptive  right;  for  it  was  known  in  the 
Planet  that  Mr.  Anstruther's  talent  in  composing  a  menu 
— simple  or  elaborate — was  exceptional,  and  that  he  could 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  77 

talk  sensibly  on  most  subjects  without  speaking  ex  ca- 
thedra. 

"  Not  half  a  bad  fellow,  when  you  know  him ;  and  devil- 
ish shrewd,  too ;  but  wants  drawing  out" — was  the  club 
verdict, — a  pretty  just  one,  as  such  verdicts  commonly 
are. 

After  his  black  coffee,  he  smoked  one  digestive  cheroot 
— very  slowly,  and  in  silence,  for  choice — and  then  betook 
himself  to  the  Orion  again,  where  his  brougham  was 
always  waiting  at  midnight.  After  that  hour  he  could 
not  be  tempted  to  begin  a  rubber. 

Though  his  acquaintance  without  the  walls  of  the 
Planet  and  the  Orion  was  so  confined,  when  he  was  per- 
manently established  in  town,  invitations  began  to  drop 
in;  but  these  were  one  and  all  courteously  declined;  and 
when  it  became  known  that  there  was  no  exception  what- 
ever to  Mr.  Anstruther's  rule  of  never  dining  out  and 
never  entertaining  at  home,  the  Amphitryons  forbore  to 
disquiet  him.  Only  one  or  two  very  intimate  friends 
could  tempt  him  sometimes  to  slightly  vary  the  even 
tenor  of  his  life  ;  chiefest  among  these  was  Walter  Ellers- 
lie.  These  two  were  not  only  kinsmen,  but  had  seen 
much  of  each  other  in  India.  Each  had  learned  long  ago 
to  value  aright  the  sterling  qualities  of  the  other's  nature 
— disguised  in  the  one  case  under  shy,  cold  reserve,  in 
the  other  by  a  curt,  incisive  manner  that  at  its  best  was 
anything  but  courtly. 

Colonel  Ellerslie  was  passionately  fond  of  whist,  and 
a  hopelessly  bad  player.  His  errors  sprang  not  from 
rashness,  or  want  of  thought;  but  from  a  combination, 
peculiar  to  himself,  of  a  set  of  rules,  of  which  all  that 
were  not  absurd  were  more  or  less  false  in  principle. 
He  was  one  of  the  most  intrepid  men  alive,  and,  not 
only  in  his  profession,  but  in  ordinary  life,  acted,  whether 
for  right  or  wrong,  with  singular  promptness  and  deci- 
sion. When  he  sat  down  to  the  whist-table,  the  whole 
nature  of  the  man  seemed  changed.  He  became  timorous 
and  vacillating  to  a  degree  ;  avaricious  of  his  trumps  in 
season  and  out  of  season,  and  leading  from  his  weakest 
suit,  rather  than  from  ace  queen.  He  would  certainly 

7* 


78  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

have  chosen  the  "  happy  dispatch"  of  throwing  up  his 
hand,  rather  than  lead  up  to  an  exposed  honor. 

Some  years  ago  there  flourished  in  the  Shires  a  nota- 
ble sportsman,  from  whom,  it  was  said,  many  useful 
hints  had  been  gained  by  such  as  had  got  a  bad  start 
and  wished  to  know  which  way  the  hounds  were  turning. 
They  watched  the  line  that  he  was  taking,  and  then  took 
exactly  the  opposite  one,  and  nine  times  out  of  ten  were 
right.  So,  a  beginner  at  whist  might  have  greatly 
improved  himself  by  watching  Colonel  Ellerslie's  play 
whenever  there  was  the  shadow  of  a  doubt,  and  thence- 
forth noting  that  card  as  the  very  last  to  be  produced 
under  the  circumstances.  Even  had  he  been  likely  to 
take  schooling  patiently,  he  was  so  palpably  incorrigible 
that  few  would  have  wasted  reproach  on  him,  much  less 
argument.  He  lived  and  died  in  happy  unconsciousness 
of  the  blundering  that  made  him  a  very  proverb  among 
those  who  suffered  thereby.  The  colonel  had  a  great 
idea  of  playing  "in  good  company,"  as  he  termed  it — 
in  no  wise  alluding  to  the  social  position  of  those  who 
made  up  the  party,  but  to  their  celebrity  at  the  game. 
He  was  not  a  member  of  the  Orion ;  for  he  was  poor, 
and  too  prudent  to  pit  himself  constantly  against  men  by 
whom  he  felt  he'was  overmatched ;  but  nothing  pleased 
him  so  much  as  an  occasional  rubber  there.  If  he  lost 
his  money,  as  was  generally  the  case,  he  grudged  it  not 
a  whit;  if  be  won,  were  it  ever  so  little,  he  went  home 
prouder  than  Diomedes  bringing  back  from  the  Trojan 
camp  the  fatal  horses  of  Rhesus. 

When  Ellerslie  first  appeared  at  the  Orion,  it  was  as 
Anstruther's  guest;  and  there  was  great  marvel  that  he, 
who  would  often  wait  for  an  hour  or  more  rather  than 
cut  in  at  a  second-rate  table,  should  have  brought  in  a  man 
to  whom  the  veriest  neophyte  in  the  club  could  have  given 
one  point  in  ten.  But  Anstruther  only  shrugged  his 
shoulders  with  a  quiet  smile — it  was  his  way  of  declining 
discussion — whenever  the  anomaly  was  hinted  to  him, 
and  would  sit  patiently  for  a  whole  evening  conniving,  so 
to  speak,  at  the  other's  blunders;  never  once  at  the  most 
flagrant  of  these  lifting  his  shaggy  gray  eyebrows,  that 
arched  themselves  readily  enough  over  much  more  venial 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  79 

transgressions.  Others  too,  less  disposed  to  indulgence, 
deemed  it  better  to  suffer  in  silence ;  partly  out  of  defer- 
ence to  Ellerslie's  entertainer,  partly  because  it  seemed 
scarce  safe  to  vent  spleen,  however  justly  provoked,  on 
the  grim  old  martialist. 

Philosophers  and  politicians  have  ceased  long  ago  to 
write  treatises  De  Amicitid;  and  even  Corinna  finds 
graver  or  more  passionate  use  for  her  pen  than  inditing 
sonnets  to  a  female  favorite.  The  romance  of  sentiment 
rarely  survives  our  school-days;  and  surely  these  gray- 
beards  had  cast  such  follies  far  behind  them.  Yet  I 
doubt  if  sincerer  sacrifice  ever  was  laid  on  .the  altar  of 
friendship,  than  the  one  just  recorded. 

For  his  hospitality  George  Anstruther  never  would 
take  payment  in  kind.  When  his  cousin's  regiment  was 
quartered  within  easy  distance  of  London,  he  could  not 
be  induced  to  visit  the  pretty  villa  in  which  the  other 
had  set  up  his  household  gods.  Before  she  became  a 
widow,  he  had  only  met  Blanche  Ellerslie  twice — each 
time  by  accident.  The  duties  of  executorship  brought 
them  more  together,  of  necessity.  Then,  despite  his  reserve 
and  shyness,  Anstruther  showed  himself  so  thoroughly 
kind  and  considerate  that  Blanche  conceived  a  great 
liking  for  and  confidence  in  him,  and  thenceforth  did  not 
scruple  to  rest  entirely  on  his  advice  in  any  important 
matters  of  business.  These  consultations  were  always 
made  by  letter. 


CHAPTER  X. 

ON  a  certain  bright  May  morning,  Mr.  Anstruther 
walked  in  his  garden,  smoking  slowly  his  after-breakfast 
cheroot.  When  he  walked,  his  step  was  planted  firmly, 
never  springily ;  and  all  his  movements  were  marked  by 
a  kind  of  mechanical  slowness.  His  frame,  naturally  tall 
and  spare,  had  grown  gaunt  and  angular  under  twenty- 
five  years'  endurance  of  Eastern  dust  and  sun.  His  fea- 
tures were  roughly  cast,  but  rather  regular  than  other- 


80  BREAKING   A   BUTTERFLY;     OR, 

wise ;  and  though  the  cheeks  and  forehead  were  crossed 
by  myriads  of  intersecting  lines,  none  were  as  yet  very 
deeply  grained.  His  strong,  short  hair,  carefully-trimmed 
whiskers,  and  thick  eyebrows  were  all  of  the  same  dark- 
grizzled  hue ;  and  his  eyes,  of  a  paler  gray,  were  steady 
without  being  searching,  with  a  kind  of  look  in  them  of 
judicial  authority — not  unbecoming  one  who  had  spent 
the  better  part  of  his  life  in  winnowing  grains  of  truth 
out  of  sheaves  of  falsehood,  and  from  whose  decision 
there  had  seldom  been  appeal.  His  feet  were  large  and 
clumsy;  but  his  long  hands  were  well  shaped,  and  the 
nails  carefully  trimmed,  though  dark  specks  here  and 
there  betrayed  the  nature  of  his  favorite  pursuit. 

Neither  in  face  nor  figure  was  there  a  single  point  on 
which  the  eye  of  an  artist  or  of  a  woman  would  huve 
loved  to  linger;  yet  in  a  crowd  of  strangers  you  would 
probably  have  singled  out  George  Anstruther  as  worthy 
of  a  second  glance.  You  would  have  guessed  that  you 
looked  upon  a  man  whose  strength  lay  rather  in  patient 
pertinacity  than  in  daring  genius  or  passionate  impulse 
— a  man  not. easily  moved  by  avarice  or  ambition,  but 
yet  who  would  seldom  fail  to  work  out  his  own  end  by 
his  own  means — a  man  self-respecting,  if  not  entirely 
God-fearing;  who  might  possibly  be  goaded  or  beguiled 
into  the  commission  of  some  great  crime,  but  scarcely 
into  any  action  merely  base  or  mean — a  man  who  would 
pass  safely  through  toils  and  temptations  in  which  others 
would  surely  be  entangled,  and  over  whom  the  Lust  of 
the  Eye  and  the  Pride  of  Life  had  as  yet  seldom  pre- 
vailed. 

It  was  a  morning  to  make  one  forget  the  many  sins  of 
English  spring.  A  light  breeze  from  the  northwest  came, 
without  a  taint  by  smoke  or  miasma,  straight  from  green 
pasture-grounds  and  pink  orchards  and  russet  fallows. 
A  morning  that  would  have  braced  the  nerves  of  a  hypo- 
chondriac better  than  all  the  tonics  of  the  faculty — a 
morning  that  might  have  tempted  a  would-be  suicide  to 
give  the  world  another  chance  of  making  him  amends  for 
intolerable  wrong. 

Staid  and  sober  as  Anstruther  was,  he  was  by  no 
means  inaccessible  to  weather  influences;  and  he 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  81 

very  happy,  after  his  own  fashion,  as  he  paced  to  and 
fro,  halting  often  to  savor  the  fragrance  of  his  trim  par- 
terres, with  which  mingled  not  unpleasantly  the  keener 
scent  of  the  Manilla  weed.  He  was  no  gambler,  in  the 
common  sense  of  the  word  ;  for  his  stakes  both  at  whist 
and  piquet  were  invariably  such  as  could  scarcely  have 
damaged  the  fortune  of  a  much  poorer  man ;  but  he  felt 
success  or  defeat  none  the  less  keenly ;  and  the  fact  of 
the  previous  night  having  been  an  exceptionally  good 
one  may  have  contributed  not  a  little  to  the  pleasantness 
of  his  humor.  The  tenacity  of  his  memory  was  some- 
thing marvelous;  and  he  could  carry  more  than  one 
whist-problem  in  his  brain  quite  easily.  He  was  work 
ing  out  rather  a  difficult  case  which  had  occurred  on  the 
previous  night,  and  had  just  determined  that  his  own 
and  his  partner's  cards  could  not  possibly  have  been 
played  to  more  advantage,  when  his  servant  brought 
him  out  a  note,  saying  that  the  bearer  waited  for  an 
answer. 

It  was  a  dainty-looking  missive.  At  the  first  glance 
Anstruther  saw  that  it  was  a  woman's  ;  and  the  second 
told  him  whence  it  came.  When  he  was  alone,  he  sat 
down  and  opened  the  envelope  deliberately,  taking  care 
not  to  destroy  the  intricate  monogram  of  violet  and  silver. 
Considering  the  brevity  of  the  note,  it  took  strangely 
long  in  perusal. 

Therein,  for  the  first  time,  Anstruther  was  made  aware 
of  Mrs.  Ellerslie's  matrimonial  intentions;  and  further 
entreated,  if  he  was  not  weary  of  doing  her  kindness,  to 
take  charge  thenceforth  of  her  separate  interests,  as  her 
trustee. 

"  But  it  is  so  much  easier  to  talk  than  to  write  about 
some  things,"  Blanche  concluded;  "and  if  you  would 
only  name  an  hour  that  would  suit  you  best  for  calling 
here,  I  would  be  quite  sure  to  be  at  home  to  you  and  to 
no  one  else." 

Then  she  signed  herself  "affectionately,"  instead  of 
"  truly,"  as  heretofore. 

For  a  space  that  would  have  sufficed  to  get  every  word 
written  on  two  pages  by  heart,  George  Anstruther  s;it 
musing;  and,  as  he  mused,  he  toyed  with  the  delicate 
F 


82  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

note,  passing  it  to  and  fro  over  his  lips  and  nostrils,  as 
though  it  had  been  a  fresh  May-blossom. 

Mrs.  Ellerslie's  worst  enemy  would  not  have  imputed 
to  her  such  a  vulgarism  as  using  scented  paper;  and 
George  Anstruther  was  little  wont  to  give  imagination 
the  rein ;  nevertheless,  he  seemed  to  savor  a  suspicion 
of  perfume.  Other  roses,  besides  those  of  Gueldres  and 
Provence,  have  been  known  to  impart  fragrance  to  the 
meanest  object  they  brush  with  their  petals, — a  fragrance 
the  like  of  which  exhales  not  from  any  herb  or  flower  of 
earth,  the  like  of  which  no  cunning  of  chemistry  can  imi- 
tate,— a  fragrance  that  will  endure  after  those  same  roses 
are  withered  and  dead.  As  Anstruther  mused,  his  bushy 
gray  brows  were  drawn  together,  and  the  lines  on  his 
forehead  grew  deeper  and  deeper. 

"  Married  again !"  so  his  thoughts  ran.  "A  risk  surely 
for  one  of  her  stamp  ;  she's  scarce  likely  to  have  her  old 
luck  over  again.  And  to  Mark  Ramsay,  too!  There's 
more  than  risk  there.  It's  the  same  man,  of  course,  I 
heard  so  much  of  in  India.  He  was  not  more  than  a 
twelvemonth  out,  and  was  keen  enough  after  the  big 
game;  but  he  found  leisure  enough  to  do  harm  that 
could  not  be  undone  in  a  lifetime.  Didn't  he  come  into 
a  great  fortune  a  year  or  so  ago  ?  Not  that  that  would 
have  anything  to  do  with  it:  she  has  more  than  she 
wants  already.  Well,  I'm  not  her  guardian,  or  even  a 
very  old  friend  ;  so  there's  no  reason  for  my  concerning 
myself  with  her  future,  beyond  looking  after  settlements 
and  investments.  Of  course  I'm  always  ready  to  do  as 
much  for  poor  old  Walter's  sake.  I'll  write  and  tell  her 
so,  and  call  this  afternoon.  Congratulation-visits  are  not 
much  in  my  line  :  I'd  just  as  soon  get  this  one  over." 

When  he  had  written  a  few  lines  in  reply,  the  hour  at 
which  he  was  wont  to  betake  himself  to  his  laboratory 
was  past;  but  he  went  out  into  the  garden  again,  mut- 
tering, while  he  lighted  a  fresh  cheroot, — 

"No  use  attempting  to  work  ;  it's  a  broken  day." 

A  forenoon  passed  in  idleness  was  not  the  only  infrac- 
tion of  the  methodical  habits  which  had  become  ingrained 
in  Anstruther 's  nature.  He  had  long  been  accustomed 
to  destroy  every  letter  that  he  received  so  soon  as  it  was 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE' S  ENDING.  83 

answered;  but  Blanche's  note,  instead  of  finding  its  way 
to  the  waste-basket,  was  dropped  into  a  drawer  in  the 
writing-table,  the  key  of  which  was  always  turned.  The 
circumstance  was  trifling  in  itself;  yet  a  physiologist 
might  have  found  ominous  significance  therein.  When 
a  clock  that  for  years  has  not  varied  a  second,  begins  all 
at  once,  without  any  assigned  reason,  to  indulge  in  ever 
so  slight  vagaries,  it  is  a  chance  if  any  horologer  will 
make  it  thenceforth  keep  quite  correct  time. 

Whether  Mrs.  Ellerslie  desired  to  show  gratitude  to 
her  trusty  counselor  for  his  past  services,  or  whether 
she  desired  still  further  to  secure  his  future  fidelity,  or 
whether  she  was  prompted  by  the  mischievous  devil  of 
coquetry  that  had  been  her  familiar  so  long,  is  a  question 
not  worth  discussing.  All  these  motives — the  last  for 
choice — may  have  influenced  her  that  afternoon. 

La  Reine  Gaillarde  was  once  heard  to  say  that  Blanche 
would  flirt  with  a  baby  in  her  arms  rather  than  not  flirt 
at  all ;  and  truly  her  conduct  on  certain  occasions — like 
the  present  one,  for  instance — made  the  imputation  seem 
not  unfounded.  A  more  unpromising  subject  for  captiva- 
tion  than  George  Anstruther  could  scarcely  be  imagined. 
She  had  long  had  great  respect  for  his  judgment  and 
confidence  in  his  honor,  and  felt  grateful  to  her  late  hus- 
band for  having  bequeathed  to  her  so  useful  an  ally. 
Nevertheless,  she  had  always  looked  on  him  in  a  sort  of 
professional  light ;  and  seldom  thought  of  him  except  in 
connection  with  business  of  some  kind.  It  was  on  busi- 
ness he  came  to  speak  now — ay,  more  than  that,  on  busi- 
ness relating  to  her  own  second  marriage. 

Anstruther,  to  do  him  justice,  after  offering  his  brief 
good  wishes,  seemed  disposed  to  keep  the  conversation 
on  a  correctly  formal  footing.  It  was  not  his  fault  that 
it  assumed  gradually  a  quasi-cousinly  tone.  It  was  not 
his  fault  if,  while  deeds  were  being  consulted  and  vouchers 
verified,  Mrs.  Ellerslie,  instead  of  sitting  decorously  at 
the  table  over  against  her  adviser,  chose  to  adopt  a  pos- 
ture befitting  a  pupil  of  Gamaliel.  Even  that  venerable 
rabbi  might  have  found  it  hard  to  meet  quite  unmoved 
such  confiding  upward  glances.  George  Anstruther  was 
neither  stock  nor  stone.  He  was  originally,  perhaps, 


84  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

not  colder  of  constitution  than  his  fellows ;  but  the  se- 
cluded life  on  which  he  entered  at  a  very  early  age,  added 
to  a  shy  reserve  increasing  with  his  years,  had  kept  him 
to  a  great  extent  clear  of  temptation :  he  was  continent 
rather  by  force  of  habit  than  for  conscience'  sake.  He 
had  mixed  so  seldom  in  society,  from  youth  upward 
until  now,  that  a  woman's  voice  speaking  low  and  sweetly 
was  in  his  ears  like  the  sound  of  some  strange  unearthly 
music ;  and  he  felt  like  one  scanning  the  alphabet  of  an 
unknown  language-,  as  he  looked  down  into  Blanche 
Ellerslie's  eyes. 

Soon  his  thoughts  began  to  wander  from  dry  business 
details,  and  to  dwell  on  such  trifles  as  the  fashion  of  a 
skirt  or  the  hue  of  a  trimming.  He  wondered  whether 
any  two  colors  on  earth  could  blend  so  harmoniously  as 
lilac  and  white,  or  were  so  fitting  to  be  twined  in  bright 
brown  hair.  He  was  not  unconscious  of  the  growing 
weakness,  and  strove  to  shake  it  off  with  inward  self-con- 
tempt ;  but  it  fared  with  him  as  with  the  victims  of 
witchcraft  in  old  time,  who  never  could  quite  complete 
the  cross-sign  that  would  have  set  them  free.  And  so 
the  weaving  of  the  spell  went  on.  He  became  so  absent 
at  last  that  Blanche  noticed  it. 

"  You  have  got  quite  tired  over  these  dreadful  papers. 
It's  such  a  shame  of  me  to  give  you  so  much  trouble. 
Shall  we  put  them  all  away  till  another  day  ?" 

As  she  spoke,  she  laid  her  fingers  lightly  on  his  wrist. 
If  a  spirit  had  touched  him  in  his  sleep,  Anstruther  could 
scarcely  have  started  more  violently. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said ;  "  but  I  was  really 
thinking  of  things  concerning  you,  though  not  exactly  of 
your  settlements.  I  am  not  tired  in  the  least,  and  these 
papers  are  very  simple.  I  believe  I  quite  understand 
what  has  to  be  done ;  and  I  don't  know  that  I  shall  have 
to  trouble  you  much  more  about  this  business." 

"  But  you'll  come  again,  and  soon  ?"  she  said.  "  Do 
you  never  mean  to  visit  me,  except  as  my  trustee  ?" 

Before  Anstruther  could  reply,  the  door  opened  slowly. 
The  Brancepeths'  butler  was  an  elder  of  infinite  discre- 
tion. Incapable  of  hurrying  himself,  he  was  not  less  in- 
dulgent to  his  superiors  than  to  his  inferiors,  and  far  too 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  85 

discreet  to  make  sudden  irruptions  on  a  tete-d-tete,  how- 
soever innocent  in  outward  seeming.  He  came  now  to 
inquire  whether  it  was  Mrs.  Ellerslie's  pleasure  to  receive 
Mr.  Ramsay.  Mr.  Ramsay  had  heard  she  was  engaged, 
and  would  detain  her  for  a  few  minutes  only.  The  lady 
did  not  stir  from  where  she  sat,  but  glanced  up  at  her 
companion,  rather  doubtfully. 

"  I  meant  this  afternoon  to  be  all  yours,  and  I  mean  it 
still.  If  you  don't  mind  my  leaving  you  for  a  very  little 
while,  I'll  go  down  and  give  Mark  his  audience.  I  shall 
be  back  before  you  have  finished  looking  through  my 
photograph-book. " 

Anstruther  rose  up  hastily. 

"  Don't  think  of  such  a  thing.  You  are  only  too  kind  ; 
but  I  really  must  leave  you,  now  that  our  business-talk  is 
done.  I  had  no  idea  how  late  it  was  ;  and  I  have  one  or 
two  engagements  that  I  cannot  break." 

She  pouted  a  little,  as  if  half  loath  to  be  gainsaid. 

"You  know  best,  of  course.  I  didn't  mean  to  be 
exacting  ;  but  at  least  you'll  see  Mark  before  you  go  ?  I 
should  not  like  to  lose  this  opportunity  of  making  you 
acquainted." 

It  would  have  needed  a  very  keen  observer  to  detect 
the  shade  of  coldness  and  constraint  in  Anstruther's 
acquiescence ;  and  the  slight  formality  of  manner  after- 
ward, during  the  interchange  of  the  few  courteous  com- 
monplaces with  Ramsay,  might  be  fairly  set  down  to 
constitutional  shyness. 

"  A  quaint  creature,"  Mark  observed,  as  soon  as  the 
door  had  fairly  closed  behind  Anstruther  ;  "  I  have  seeo 
the  very  image  of  him  in  some  old  picture  or  another — ah, 
I  remember  now — it's  the  faithful  steward  in  Hogarth's 
Marriage  d  la  mode :  only  this  one  wears  whiskers  and 
no  wig.  I  hope  he'll  never  have  reason  to  hold  up  his 
hands  at  our  extravagance,  Bianchetta." 

"  Don't  laugh  at  him,"  she  said,  gravely.  "  You  would 
not,  if  you  knew  how  thoroughly  kind  and  useful  he  has 
always  shown  himself  to  me  ;  though  I  never  had  the 
grace  to  thank  him  for  it,  properly,  before  to-day." 

"  I  don't  laugh  at  him.  Lawyers  who  understand 
8 


86  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

their  business,  and  work  without  fees,  are  too  rare  to  be 
lightly  entreated.  I  would  not  have  his  manner  thawed 
for  the  world.  If  it  were  a  shade  more  genial,  it  would 
not  suit  a  model  trustee." 

She  shook  her  head  reprovingly,  smiling  nevertheless  ; 
and,  five  minutes  later,  they  were  speaking  of  matters 
with  which  conveyancing  had  little  enough  to  do. 

Whatever  were  the  engagements  for  that  afternoon 
that  George  Anstruther  could  not  break,  he  seemed  to 
have  forgotten  them  before  he  left  Craven  Square  far 
behind  him.  Instead  of  turning  his  steps  toward  either 
of  his  clubs,  or  toward  any  frequented  thoroughfare,  he 
walked  slowly  away  northward,  through  the  Regent's 
Park,  to  the  gardens  of  the  Botanical  Society,  of  which  he 
had  been  some  time  a  fellow.  The  grounds  were  almost 
empty  ;  and  the  solitary  bench  that  he  selected  lay  far  out 
of  the  track  of  the  few  loungers  who  wandered  hither  and 
thither,  mostly  in  pairs.  Minutes  passed  into  hours,  and 
still  Anstruther  sat  a-musing,  haunted  by  the  echo  of  a 
voice,  by  the  shadow  of  a  face,  and,  most  of  all,  by  the 
memory  of  a  look — the  look  with  which  Blanche  Ellerslie, 
before  she  spoke  ever  a  word,  had  greeted  Mark  Ramsay. 

The  names  of  Hafiz  and  Pirduzi  are  strange  to  many ; 
but  we  all  have  heard  or  read  of  the  eloquence  of  Eastern 
eyes.  They  gleam  not  less  lustrously,  be  sure,  on  the 
banks  of  Indus  or  Ganges,  than  beside  the  waters  of 
Shiraz.  No  man  could  have  dwelt  for  a  quarter  of  a 
century,  with  almost  autocratic  power,  in  a  remote  Indian 
district,  without  having  chances  enough  of  studying  such 
language.  Anstruther  had  seen  eyes,  compared  with 
which  Blanche  Ellerslie's  might  seem  dull,  melting  in 
entreaty,  sparkling  in  provocation,  and  languishing  .some- 
times in  passion  not  wholly  venal ;  but  such  a  look  as  he 
had  watched  to-day^ — a  look  in  which  there  was  none  of 
the  guile  of  coquette  or  courtesan,  but  only  the  frank 
confession  of  a  woman's  love — he  had  never  seen  before. 
He  felt  somewhat  despondent,  as  he  thought  that  he  had 
spent  two-thirds  of  the  span  of  human  life  without  ever 
winning  such  a  one  for  himself,  and  that  to  dream  of 
winning  such  a  one  now  would  bo  the  very  madness  of 
vanity. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  87. 

His  reverie  was  not  rose-colored,  yet  it  cost  him  a 
painful  effort  to  break  it.  He  forced  himself  back  into  the 
groove  of  his  usual  habits  that  evening  ;  but  the  chef  of 
the  Planet  failed  for  once  to  please  his  palate ;  and,  in 
the  first  rubber  that  he  played  at  the  Orion,  if  his  partner 
had  not  been  one  of  those  irrational  loyalists  who  think 
that  the  King  can  do  no  wrong,  exception  might  more 
than  once  have  been  taken  to  his  play. 


CHAPTER  XL 

On  that  same  forenoon,  one/>f  the  opening  scenes  in 
another  drama  was  being  enacted  in  another  garden — the 
garden  of  Kensington,  to  wit. 

What  a  many  secrets  have  been  overheard  by  those 
ancient  elms,  since  Heneage  Finch  built  the  boundary- 
fence  of  his  pleasaunce !  Could  their  experience  be  set 
forth  for  the  behoof  of  modern  lovers,  would  they  be  apt, 
I  wonder,  to  encourage  or  to  warn  ?  If  they  said,  "  For- 
bear !"  the  word  would  be  whispered  very  timidly,  be 
sure,  on  such  a  morning  as  this. 

In  the  Hamadryad  there  was  ever  a  touch  of  human 
weakness  that  the  daughters  of  Oceauus  would  have 
spurned,  and  from  which  the  Naiads  and  Oreads  were 
free.  She  was  not  immortal,  you  know  ;  her  fragile  life 
might  any  day  be  cut  short  by  the  woodman's  axe,  with- 
ered by  long  unseasonable  frosts,  or  blasted  by  cruel 
lightning.  Some  of  the  saddest  and  tenderest  of  ancient 
legends  are  those  which  tell  of  the  sorrows  of  these  poor 
nymphs,  for  whom  no  place  was  found  on  Olympus,  and 
whom  the  greater  gods  seldom  deigned  to  notice,  unless 
it  was  to  work  them  woe.  So  it  was  but  natural  that 
they  should  sympathize  with  the  hopes  and  fears  of  mor- 
tals, and  that  the  favorite  spots  for  love-trysts,  since  the 
trees  budded  in  Eden,  should  have  been  found  in  forest- 
land. 

Mythology,  in  these  practical  days,  is  chiefly  "for  the 
use  of  schools;'1  and  if  any  of  those  who  loitered  in  Ken- 


88  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

sington  Gardens  that  forenoon  thought  of  such  old-world 
fables,  it  was  probably  such  a  one  as  that  sallow,  gray- 
bearded  man  yonder — sitting  apart  and  alone,  seldom 
lifting  his  eyes  from  a  dingy  volume  in  antique  binding — 
a  bibliopole  most  likely,  anxious  to  ascertain  whether  his 
purchase  of  yesterday  was  a  veritable  Elzevir  or  no.  No 
such  fancies,  you  might  be  sworn,  crossed  the  brain  of 
either  of  the  pair  with  whom  we  are  now  concerned. 

Horace  Kendall  was  first  at  the  trysting-place,  as  in 
duty  bound.  In  the  pleasant  shadowy  nook  where  he  sat, 
any  idler  would  have  been  content  to  lounge  an  hour  away 
without  such  special  object  as  a  meeting  with  Nina  Mars- 
ton.  But,  before  ten  minutes  of  solitary  expectation  were 
gone,  Kendall  evidently  began  to  think  himself  ill  used, 
and  a  victim  either  of  circumstances  or  caprice.  His  face 
— handsome  enough  in  its  own  peculiar  style — was  some- 
thing like  a  flashily-furnished  room,  that  must  be  well 
lighted  up  to  be  attractive.  Just  now,  with  peevish  fret- 
fulness  upon  it,  it  was  certainly  rather  the  reverse  of  fas- 
cinating. He  was  chewing  a  second  cigarette  rather 
viciously  between  his  teeth,  when  he  saw  Nina  Marston 
approaching. 

Few  people  would  have  called  Nina  beautiful — she  had 
not  enough  regularity  of  feature  or  brilliancy  of  complex- 
ion for  such  a  distinction — but  fewer  still  would  have  de- 
nied that  she  looked  wonderfully  piquante  and  pretty, 
sweeping  over  the  grass  with  the  rapid  grace  inherited 
from  her  Spanish  ancestry ;  while  stray  gleams  of  sun- 
light flickered  on  the  ripples  of  her  rich  black  hair — 
scarcely  concealed  by  the  excuse  for  a  bonnet  matching 
her  dress  of  misty  blue.  Even  Kendall  did  her  that  much 
justice ;  and  his  brow  cleared  involuntarily  as  he  rose  to 
greet  her,  though  his  first  words  were  querulous. 

"  I  began  to  think  you  were  never  coming." 

"That  is  so  like  a  man,"  Nina  answered.  "A  man 
who  has  nothing  to  do  but  to  stroll  out  after  breakfast, 
without  any  danger  of  being  questioned  about  '  whithers 
or  wherefores.'  I'm  sure  a  cigarette  must  be  much  pleas- 
anter  here  than  in  a  hot,  stuffy  room.  I'm  not  a  quarter 
of  an  hoqr  late,  after  all :  and  you  are  as  plaintive  as  if 
I  had  no  danger  and  difficulties  to  fight  with.  Yes,  dan- 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  8i> 

gers — you  needn't  shrug  }~our  shoulders.  It  isn't  very 
likely  that  mamma  will  come  down  or  want  me  before  J 
get  back — we  weren't  home  from  the  Broadlands  till  past 
four — and  it  isn't  very  likely  she'll  question  Rosie  as  to 
whether  I've  been  with  her  this  morning  or  not ;  but  she 
might  do  it,  you  know,  and  then " 

She  pursed  her  firm,  scarlet  lips  significantly. 

Kendall  did  not  repent  being  unjust ;  but  he  had  tact 
enough  to  see  that  to  persist  in  sulking  was  scarcely  wise. 
He  laid  his  lips  on  the  gloved  hand  that  he  held  with  a 
grace  that  the  girl  thought  perfect,  though  many  women 
would  have  termed  it  theatrical. 

"Cannot  you  guess  what  makes  me  exacting?"  he 
murmured.  "  It  is  because  the  minutes  I  spend  with  you 
seem  so  short  and  few,  and  the  hours  I  spend  alone — I 
am  always  really  alone  when  I  don't  see  you — are  so 
long  and  dreary  ;  and  yet  I  should  be  miserable,  and  hate 
myself  forever,  if  you  got  into  trouble  on  my  account 
to-day.  I  fear  your  sister  would  hardly  help  you  out  of 
the  scrape." 

"  Never  !''  Nina  replied,  decisively.  "  Rosie  is  the  most 
good-natured  thing  alive,  as  a  rule;  but  in  this  case  she 
would  not  help  me  one  bit.  It  was  all  I  could  do,  on  the 
morning  after  her  ball,  to  prevent  her  putting  mamma  on 
her  guard  about  you  and  me.  1  think  it's  partly  on  ac- 
count of  something  Lord  Nithsdale  said — I  do  wish  those 
grave  elders  would  mind  their  own  affairs — but  it's  not 
only  that.  She's  got  prejudices  of  her  own,  I'm  certain." 

His  brow  grew  overcast  again. 

"Yes,  it  isn't  likely  that  I  shall  ever  have  to  be  grate- 
ful to  Lady  Nithsdale  for  her  good  offices  or  her  good 
word  either.  I  suppose  it  isn't  in  her  to  be  uncivil  to  any 
one ;  but  her  manner  grows  colder  every  ti*ne  we  meet, 
and  that's  seldom  enough,  God  knows.  So  you  weren't 
home  from  the  Broadiands  till  past  four  ?  How  you  must 
have  enjoyed  yourself!  It  was  so  pleasant  for  me  to  sit 
alone  and  fancy  it  all — who  were  your  partners,  and  what 
they  said  ;  and  how  you  listened  and  smiled  back  at  them  ; 
and  all  the  rest  of  it." 

He  shut  his  lips  quickly ;  but  scarce  quick  enough  to 
prevent  the  escape  of  a  base,  bitter  word — such  as  must, 


90  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

indeed,  grate  on  any  woman's  ears,  unless,  like  the  rela- 
tives of  a  certain  potentate  of  the  press,  she  has  "  grown 
steady  under  swearing  "  The  girl  looked  at  him  with  a 
little  pained  surprise,  but  without  a  particle  of  fear.  If 
Lord  Daventry's  daughter  was  to  be  ruled  by  terror,  an- 
other manner  of  man  than  Horace  Kendall  must  have 
swayed  the  iron  scepter. 

"  I  wish  very,  very  much  that  you  could  have  been 
there,"  she  said,  simply;  "and  I  didn't  quite  give  you  up 
till  midnight ;  for  I  thought  it  just  possible  you  might 
have  got  an  invitation  at  the  last  moment.  But  when  I 
saw  that  wishing  was  of  no  use,  I  tried  to  make  the  best 
of  it ;  and  I  did  enjoy  myself  after  a  fashion  ;  I'm  not  a 
bit  ashamed  to  confess  it.  You'  hardly  expected  me  to 
sit  sulking  in  a  corner,  or  to  waltz  with  tears  in  my  eyes? 
I'm  sure  I  can't  remember  what  my  partners  said.  Much 
the  same  as  usual,  I  suppose ;  but  I  can  remember  their 
names,  I  dare  say.  Hardly  any  of  them  are  friends  or 
enemies  of  yours." 

There  was  not  a  shadow  of  taunt  in  those  last  words ; 
yet  they  stung  him  not  the  less  sharply. 

"  That's  very  likely,"  he  sneered.  "All  in  your  sister's 
set,  I  suppose, — a  very  nice  set  too.  They  live  in  a  sort 
of  Agapemone  of  their  own,  and  don't  think  an  outsider 
worth  nodding  to.  They  are  the  very  partners  I  should 
have  chosen  for  you,  of  course,  if  I  had  had  to  choose." 

Gwendoline  Marston  was  not  by  any  means  a  literary 
young  lady ;  and  Spiritual  Wives  had  not  then  been  writ- 
ten. The  long  Greek  word  fairly  puzzled  her. 

"  I  haven't  an  idea  what  you  mean  by  Aga-something- 
or-other;  something  very  severe,  no  doubt.  I  suppose  I'm 
un  outsider  too ;  for  very  few  of  Rosie's  set  ever  notice 
me  much — unless  it's  Regy  Avenel,  who  gives  me  a  turn 
sometimes  for  old  acquaintance'  sake.  You  needn't  be 
captious  about  my  partners.  Wait  till  I  risk  for  any  one 
of  them  one-quarter  as  much  as  I  have  risked  fur  you  this 
norniug — something  more  than  a  scolding,  as  you  know. 
3ut  I  didn't  come  out  here  to  quarrel.  Look  ]>Ir:is;iift, 
.his  moment,  or  I'll  carry  back  what  I've  hrou^ht  for 
you.  Cross-grained  people  don't  deserve  anything  half 
•o  pretty." 


BLANCHE  ULLERSLfE'S  ENDING.  91 

She  opened  a  small  case,  holding1  a  sort  of  armlet,  like 
an  Indian  bangle;  only  the  band  of  dead  gold  was  flatter 
and  broader,  and  it  was  closed  with  a  spring-lock.  On 
the  outside,  in  bright  raised  Roman  letters,  was  the  word 
"Nina;"  and  within  was  engraved  a  date — the  date  of 
the  Nithsdale  ball. 

"  I  arrest  you  in  the  Queen's  name,"  she  said,  laughing 
delightedly  at  his  look  of  surprise,  "and  resistance  is  use- 
less: so  sit  still  and  be  handcuffed." 

As  she  spoke,  she  fitted  the  band  round  his  arm,  and 
closed  the  spring-lock  with  a  snap.  It  was  not  so  tight 
as  to  be  galling,  yet  not  loose  enough  to  slip  below  the 
wrist-joint;  so  that  under  any  ordinary  circumstances  the 
sleeve  would  hide  it.  Very  wise  or  very  morose  he  must 
surely  be,  who  is  not  mollified  by  a  present  offered  timo- 
rously by  fair  white  hands.  Men  who  would  put  aside 
such  a  thing,  coming  from  one  of  their  fellows,  as  though 
it  savored  of  bribe,  would  no  more  reject  the  first  proof 
of  a  woman's  generosity  than  they  would  stay  the  drop- 
ping of  the  summer-dew  ;  and  might  be  inclined  to  doubt 
whether  itis  always  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive. 
The  consciousness  that  the  natural  order  of  things  is  for 
this  once  reversed,  does  not  make  the  situation  less  pleas- 
ant. When  Solomon  sat  in  his  glory,  and  peace-offerings 
were  laid  at  his  feet  from  Ophir  and  Arabia  and  the  Isles 
of  the  Sea,  I  doubt  if  the  richest  of  them  all  found  such 
favor  in  his  solemn  eyes  as  the  meanest  gift  of  the  dusky 
Sabasan  beauty. 

Kendall  was  neither  a  sage  nor  a  stoic,  nor  at  any  time 
hampered  by  overmuch  delicacy.  His  ill  humor  vanished 
instantly.  Pie  would  possibly  have  preferred  a  trinket 
that  he  could  have  flaunted  more  ostentatiously — the 
plebeian  drop  in  his  blood  showed  itself  in  nothing  more 
than  in  a  garish  taste  in  personal  adornment;  neverthe- 
less, he  was  much  gratified,  and  so  eloquent  in  his  thanks 
that  Nina  was  fain  to  check  them. 

"  It  isn't  worth  speaking  about,"  she  said,  with  a  bright 
blush  ;  "  but  I'm  so  glad  you  like  it,  and  that  you  should 
like  the  fancy,  too.  Whenever  you  get  tired  of  it,  you 
must  come  to  me  to  take  it  off;  for  it  can't  be  opened 
without  the  key,  which  I  mean  to  keep." 


92  BREAKING  A    BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

Not  worth  speaking  about  ?  Perhaps  few  women,  un- 
spoiled by  the  world,  think  any  homage  paid  to  their  first 
suzerain  d1  amour  worth  a  second  thought,  much  less  a 
second,  word.  Yet  there  are  men,  not  especially  high- 
souled  or  unselfish,  who  would  have  owned  to  a  certain 
swelling  of  the  heart,  had  they  guessed  with  what  infi- 
nite difficulty  and  risk  Nina  Marston  had  contrived  to  order 
that  armlet,  and  at  what  cost,  not  only  of  self-denial,  but 
of  self-abasement,  she  had  contrived  to  beg  and  borrow 
and  save  coin  enough  to  pay  for  it.  If  Horace  Kendall 
had  been  aware  of  these  details,  he  would  only  have 
smiled;  and  the  smile  would  have  been  half  contempt- 
uous of  the  girl's  folly,  half  exultant  over  his  own  irresist- 
ible charms. 

For  a  minute  or  two  they  sat  hand  in  hand,  quite  silent ; 
then  Nina  glanced  at  her  watch,  and  rose  up  quickly. 

"  I  must  go  now.  Don't  try  to  keep  me  ;  I  feel  it  isn't 
safe.  It's  always  bad  luck  to  go  against  presentiments. 
You  may  walk  with  me  to  the  gate,  if  you  like,  but  you 
mustn't  come  outside.  I  don't  want  to  scandalize  my 
respectable  old  cabman.  It  was  so  nice  of  him  to  bring 
me  here  all  through  by-streets,  just  as  if  he  guessed  what 
I  wished,  and  not  to  look  in  the  least  knowing  when  I 
told  him  to  wait  here.  I  only  hope  he'll  be  as  discreet 
in  taking  me  back." 

Kendall  had  studied  his  part  of  jeune  premier  very 
carefully;  he  thought  it  was  his  cue  here  to  look  mildly 
reproachful,  and  to  heave  a  little,  injured  sigh  ;  but  he  did 
not  attempt  to  detain  his  companion  either  by  word  or 
gesture,  and  the  two  walked  away  together. 

"I  shall  see  you  again  soon — very  soon?"  Horace 
asked,  when  they  were  nearing  the  gate. 

"  I'm  sure  I  hope  so,"  she  said,  rather  drearily.  "  Every 
day  it  seems  more  difficult  to  manage.  We  go  to  the  opera 
to-night,  of  course ;  and  to-morrow  there's  a  great  dinner 
at  home,  and  a  crowd  coming  in  the  evening.  On  Satur- 
day there's  a  hateful  garden-party  of  the  Chetwynds'  at 
Twickenham.  I  do  so  wish  it  would  rain,  and  spoil  those 
horse-chestnuts  they  make  such  a  fuss  about.  1  don't  see 
a  chance  of  our  meeting,  unless  it's  in  the  crush-room  to- 
night; and  then  you  mustn't  talk  to  me  for  more  than  a 
second  or  two." 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  93 

• 

His  face  lowered  again,  and  he  looked  at  her  askance 
from  under  his  bent  brows 

"I  have  always  heard  that  where  there's  a  will  there's 
a  way.  The  proverb  don't  seem  to  apply  in  our  case. 
I  suppose  we  shall  not  meet  again  till  some  one  of  your 
acquaintance  gives  a  music-party  at  which  I'm  wanted. 
I  have  a  great  mind  to  go  in  for  the  regular  professional 
game.  Then,  perhaps,  Lady  Daventry  wouldn't  mind 
my  giving  you  some  singing-lessons  ;  my  terms  wouldn't 
be  exorbitant,  and  your  voice  is  worth  taking  some  pains 
about." 

There  was  sorrowful  wonder  in  her  great  black  eyes, 
but  no  anger  or  upbraiding.  Considering  her  quick,  will- 
ful temper,  the  patience  with  which  she  met  each  fresh 
proof  of  his  peevish  ingratitude  was  something  miracu- 
lous. 

"  I  don't  deserve  that,"  she  said.  "Never  mind;  I'll 
forget  it  as  s.oon  as  I  can ;  but  I  wish  you  wouldn't  say 
things  that  it  hurts  one  to  remember.  It  isn't  my  fault, 
surely,  that  Lady  Longfield  has  been  crossed  off  our  vis- 
iting-list, so  that  there's  no  chance  of  her  bringing  you 
to-morrow  evening.  I  don't  think  mamma  had  any  spe 
cial  reason  for  doing  it — she's  too  indolent  to  quarrel  with 
any  one — but  she's  rather  a  knack  of  dropping  her  ac- 
quaintances. Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  girl,  in  her  first 
season,  teasing  people  for  invitations  for  a  man — neither 
her  cousin  nor  a  very  old  friend?  If  you  won't  trust 
me,  I  can't  help  it.  It  will  only  make  more  up-hill  work 
for  us  both." 

Kendall  had  the  tact  to  see  that  for  once  he  had  touched 
the  wrong  chord  and  pressed  it  too  long;  so  he  drew  the 
contrition-stop  at  once.  The  first  few  words  brought  the 
light  back  into  Xina  Marston's  face  ;  and,  after  the  usual 
promises  to  write,  and  so  forth,  they  parted  amicably. 

Horace  Kendall's  meditations  seemed  somewhat  check- 
ered in  their  kind;  for,  if  he  frowned  twice  or  thrice  as 
he  walked  back  across  the  park,  his  lips  wore  an  insolent 
smile,  as  he  halted  in  a  solitary  spot,  and,  drawing  back 
his  sleeve,  let  the  armlet  shimmer  in  the  sun. 


94  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

WHEN  the  news  of  Mrs.  Ellerslie's  engagement  was 
announced,  there  was  in  the  world  not  a  little  wonder, 
and  much  diversity  of  opinion  as  to  the  chances  of  its 
turning  out  happily.  The  prophets  of  evil  were  to  the 
prophets  of  good,  as  it  were,  ten  to  one  ;  yet  few  of  these 
were  influenced  by  rancor,  or  anything  beyond  the  pur- 
poseless spite  of  the  hack-gossip,  who  is  bound  to  be  cyn- 
ical if  not  scandalous. 

The  animosities  that  Blanche  Ellerslie  had  provoked 
were  all  feminine,  and  not  very  bitter  or  enduring.  In- 
deed, many  who  had  watched  jealously  the  going-out  and 
coming-in  of  the  dangerous  little  cruiser  were  not  ill  dis- 
posed to  wish  her  "  God-speed, "  now  that  she  was  to  sail 
no  longer  under  her  own  flag,and  so  could  have  less  ex- 
cuse than  ever  for  molesting  the  stately  caravels  forging 
onward  toward  nuptial  roadsteads  and  havens. 

No  man  could  follow  such  a  career  as  Ramsay's  had 
been  for  years  past  without  laying  foundation  for  more 
than  one  mortal  feud;  but,  if  Mark  could  not  speak  of 
his  enemies  in  the  words  of  the  old  Spanish  statesman 
who  has  just  passed  away, — "Us  sont  tons  fusilles,"- 
he  could  comfort  himself  with  the  assurance  that  none  of 
them  was  just  now  to  the  fore  to  witness  against  his  past 
or  augur  maliciously  of  his  future.  It  should  be  remem- 
bered that  since  the  early  meridian  of  life  he  had  lived 
so  much  abroad  that  the  untraveled  part  of  English  so- 
ciety scarcely  knew  him,  except  by  hearsay. 

On  neither  side  were  there  any  of  those  ill-used  friends 
whose  querulous  voices  mar  the  harmony  of  epithalamia. 
In  the  early  and  middle  days  of  her  widowhood,  Blanche 
bad  not  lacked  suitors ;  but  of  late  her  disinclination  to 
marry  again  had  become  such  an  established  fact  that  no 
one  had  cared  to  incur  an  almost  certain  rejection,  which 
might  bring  a  restraint  on  the  present  freedom  of  Platonic 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  95 

straying.  Others,  besides  Harry  Armar,  had  carried  away 
from  her  presence  the  sting  of  her  coquetry,  and  had 
striven,  more  or  less  effectually,  to  deaden  it  by  one  or 
other  anodyne.  But,  of  all  that  had  known  her  inti- 
mately, Oswald  Gauntlet  was  perhaps  the  only  one  who 
had  never  quite  ceased  to  think  of  her  in  the  light  of  his 
possible  wife. 

Since  Mark  Ramsay's  name  was  first  quoted  in  the 
marriage-market,  his  demeanor  had  been  so  carefully 
guarded,  and  his  courtesy  so  justly  apportioned,  that  no 
chaperone,  howsoever  exacting  or  sanguine,  could  com- 
plain of  his  having  trifled  with  the  affections  of  their 
charges. 

If  on  the  present  occasion  there  was  not  much  of  envy 
or  uncharitableness,  doubt  and  infinite  curiosity  were  ex- 
pressed as  to  the  result  of  the  match.  It  could  not  ex- 
actly be  called  an  ill-assorted  one ;  for  the  several  ages  of 
the  two  affianced  were  suitable  enough,  and  they  might 
be  supposed  to  possess  a  certain  similarity  of  tastes. 
Nevertheless,  their  contract  seemed  to  rouse  in  the  world 
a  kind  of  buzz  of  expectation — such  as  pervades  the  gallery 
when  two  renowned  ecarte  players  face  each  other.  If 
any  of  these  whispers  reached,  as  is  not  likely,  the  ears 
of  the  parties  chiefly  concerned,  neither  surely  bestowed 
on  them  a  second  thought ;  for  Mark  had  walked  too  long 
after  his  own  devices  to  care  a  straw  for  the  world's 
wisdom  when  it  criticised  his  private  concerns;  and, 
though  Blanche  had  hesitated,  as  you  are  aware,  before 
taking  the  final  step,  all  the  preachers  in  Christendom 
would  not  have  persuaded  her  to  repent  it  when  once 
taken. 

All  things  were  soon  ready  for  the  marriage.  Even 
legal  charioteers  have  no  excuse  for  driving  heavily  when 
their  well-oiled  wheels  meet  with  no  impediment;  and  it 
is  known  with  what  a  will  milliners  will  work  for  a  favor- 
ite customer,  in  whose  order  there  is  the  rihg  of  ready 
gold.  If  any  had  been  disposed  to  question  Mrs.  Ellers- 
lie's  popularity,  they  would  have  been  compelled  to  ac- 
knowledge it  after  reviewing  her  wedding-presents.  This 
was  not  a  case  of  contract  between  financial  or  social 
magnates,  where  the  gifts,  as  a  matter  of  course,  are  gor- 


96  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

geous  and  numberless.  Very  few  of  Blanche's  intimates 
could  really  afford  to  be  generous ;  yet  day  by  day  offer- 
ings came  pouring  in,  till  Laura  Brancepeth's  back  draw- 
ing-room became  all  ablaze  with  bijouterie.  Among 
these  there  was  a  gift  that  attracted  much  attention, 
though  several  that  lay  around  were  much  richer  in  ap- 
pearance, if  not  in  intrinsic  value — a  fire-opal,  of  great 
size  and  brilliancy,  set  in  the  midst  of  a  square  amulet  of 
the  soft  pale  gold  worked  only  by  Eastern  jewelers. 
Round  the  upper  edge  ran  an  intricate  mixture  of  dots 
and  curves,  that  ninety-nine  out  of  a  hundred  would  have 
mistaken  for  a  pattern  in  arabesque.  A  very  accurate 
observer  might  have  noticed  that  the  graving  of  the 
signs  was  of  later  date  than  the  ornament  itself. 

This  was  Mr.  Anstruther's  present,  and  he  brought  it 
himself.  He  had  written  to  Blanche  several  times  about 
her  business-matters,  which  he  managed  with  his  usual 
skill  and  earnestness,  but  had  never  shown  in  Craven 
Square  since  the  day  you  wot  of.  On  the  present  occa- 
sion his  manner  was  stiff  almost  to  ungraciousness ;  and, 
if  Blanche  had  not  been  taken  up  in  admiring  the  amulet 
— for  the  quaintness  of  the  design,  even  more  than  the 
beauty  of  the  gem,  captivated  her  fancy — she  must  have 
noticed  this  at  once.  And  when  she  thanked  him,  not 
only  for  his  pretty  present,  but  also  for  the  trouble  he  had 
taken  on  her  behalf,  he  answered,  quite  chillingly, — 

"  I  cannot  accept  thanks  that  I  have  not  earned — at 
least,  from  you.  A  little  business  is  quite  a  godsend  to  a 
perfectly  idle  man  who  has  worked  in  his  time;  and  the 
little  I  have  done  for  you  I  would  have  done  twenty 
times  over,  unasked,  to  please  Walter  Ellerslie.  And  he 
did  ask  me,  in  the  last  letter  I  ever  had  from  him,  to 
serve  you  whenever  I  could.  If  I  have  carried  out  his 
wishes,  I  am  glad  ;  but  I  can  claim  little  gratitude  from 
you,  you  see,  any  more  than  I  can  for  devising  that 
trinket,  which  I  got,  honestly,  I  assure  you,  years  and 
years  ago.  The  change  I  made  in  it — it's  hardly  worth 
naming — was  only  adding  these  letters." 

He  traced  with  his  finger  the  inscription  round  the 
edge. 

She  was  surprised,  and  a  little  hurt,  at  the  change  in 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  97 

his  demeanor.  He  seemed  so  bent  on  ignoring  entirely 
their  last  interview — so  determined  to  make  her  feel  that 
familiar  confidences  between  a  grave  personage  like  him- 
self and  a  light-minded  bird  like  her  were  misplaced, 
and  that  for  her  own  sake  she  was  not  worth  looking 
after.  Nevertheless,  she  felt  somehow  that  no  real  un- 
kindness  was  meant,  and  deemed  it  best  to  let  it  pass  for 
the  present. 

"Those  letters  ?"  she  said;  "  I  had  no  idea  they  were 
letters.  And  what  do  they  spell  ? — some  terrible  cabal- 
istic word,  I  dare  say." 

"Xo;  a  very  plain  and  simple  one,  whether  it  is  writ- 
ten in  English  or  Sanscrit  :  the  word  is  'Ready.'  I  had 
it  engraved  there  because  I  wished  you  to  be  reminded 
sometimes  that  though  the  trust,  if  you  can  call  it  so, 
that  Walter  Ellerslie  left  me  ends  on  your  marriage-day, 
I  am  always  ready  with  any  help  that  I  can  render  If 
I  had  ever  been  romantic,  Mrs.  Ellerslie,  I  should  have 
outlived  that  long  ago.  I  mean  literally  what  I  say  ;  and 
I  shall  not  go  back  from  my  word  if  we  don't  chance  to 
meet  for  years  after  next  Wednesday — not  a  very  unlikely 
thing,  either — and  the  service  I  refer  to  has  nothing  to  do 
with  the  duties  of  a  marriage-trustee." 

"I  will  not  forget,"  she -said,  softly;  "but,  if  I  ever 
ask  you  for  help,  it  will  be  in  my  own  name — not  even 
in  that  of  the  kind,  brave  soul  who  trusted  me  to  you — 
and  then  I  may  thank  you  for  myself,  and  in  my  own 
fashion.  But  I  cannot  understand  what  you  mean  by 
its  being  likely  that  wre  should  not  meet.  Wherever  I 
am,  you  know  you  will  always  be  welcome;  and  I'm 
certain  you  will  like  Mark  when  you  become  better  ac- 
quainted." 

Was  she  so  sure  of  that  ?  Little  as  she  was  to  be 
trusted  when  trifling,  Mrs.  Ellerslie  was  seldom  insincere. 
She  felt  a  disagreeable  consciousness,  just  now,  that  those 
last  words  might  just  as  well  have  been  left  unsaid,  and 
that  George  Anstruther  deserved  something  better  than 
a  hollow  form  of  courtesy.  Possibly  some  such  thought 
may  have  crossed  his  mind  likewise.  If  his  manner  had 
thawed  a  little,  it  froze  now  more  rigidly  than  ever. 

"You're  very  kind.  I'm  not  likely  to  be  troublesome 
G  9 


98  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

to  you  ;  and  I  fear  I've  little  chance  of  improving  my 
acquaintance  with  Mr.  Ramsay.  I  never  mix  in  general 
society,  as  perhaps  you  have  heard,  and  my  bad  habits 
are  past  mending.  When  I  accepted  your  invitation  for 
Wednesday  next,  I  accepted  only  for  the  church,  you  re- 
member." 

With  all  her  tact  in  such  matters,  Blanche  felt  at  a  loss 
how  to  break  the  awkward  pause  that  ensued.  She  had 
always  considered  Mr.  Anstruther  very  abrupt  and  eccen- 
tric ;  but  his  manner  now  fairly  puzzled  her.  That  he 
still  meant  kindly  by  her  was  clear;  but,  then,  what  sig- 
nified the  harsh  coldness  for  which  she  had  given  no  sort 
of  fresh  cause  ?  While  she  was  in  this  state  of  perplexity, 
the  door  opened,  infinitely  to  her  relief,  and  Laura  Brance- 
peth  entered — from  whose  presence,  so  soon  as  he  could 
decently  escape,  Mr.  Anstruther  made  precipitate  retreat. 

Lady  Peverell  herself — hating  La  Reine  Gaillarde  as 
only  Puritans  can  hate — was  fain  to  attribute  to  her  some 
slight  goodnature  and  generosity;  but  the  warmest  of 
her  admirers  scarcely  gave  that  reckless  dame  credit  for 
so  much  delicacy  as  she  had  evinced  since  the  engage- 
ment had  become  an  accomplished  fact.  Her  one  object 
seemed  to  be  to  make  Blanche  forget  all  that  she  had 
said  while  warning  was  of  avail;  and  she  would  not  hear 
of  the  wedding-breakfast  taking  place  elsewhere  than  in 
Craven  Square — devoting  to  the  celebration  of  that  select 
banquet  more  time  and  zeal  than  she  had  ever  spared  to 
the  most  important  of  her  own  entertainments.  She  was 
not  fickle,  either  in  her  likes  or  dislikes.  At  first  it  was 
rather  a  trial  to  be  always  cordial  to  Mark  Ramsay;  and 
she  had  to  set  a  watch  on  her  free-spoken  lips,  lest  a  sharp 
word  should  escape  them  unawares.  But  this  restraint 
soon  passed  away.  She  could  not  deny  that  Mark's  de- 
meanor toward  his  fiancee  was  simply  perfect ;  and  as, 
day  by  day,  she  came  to  acknowledge  that  report  had  not 
exaggerated  the  fascination  of  his  manner,  she  ceased  to 
wonder  at  Blanche's  infatuation,  or  even  to  call  her  choice 
by  such  a  name. 

"  Devils  are  not  often  quite  so  black  as  they  are 
painted,"  she  confessed.  "And  this  one's  complexion 
cTi-tainly  improves  on  acquaintance.  I  don't  feel  the 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  99 

least  inclined  to  exorcise  him  now  when  he  appears;  and 
I  have  quite  left  off  pitying  Blanche;  though  I  don't 
think  it's  likely  I  shall  ever  quite  come  to  envy  her. 
There's  room  for  improvement,  of  course;  but  I'm  not 
sure  that's  a  bad  thing.  Mr.  Brancepeth  is  never  so 
happy  as  when  he's  'improving'  some  piece  of  land  or 
another ;  and  Blanche  can  try  her  hand  in  the  same  line. 
Perhaps  she  will  get  some  good  crops  out  of  her  new 
property,  after  all,  if  she's  any  luck  in  husbandry." 

Her  confidant — vieux  routier  himself — smiled  approv- 
ingly. 

"Metaphorical,  as  usual,"  he  said.  "I  don't  suppose 
any  one  else  would  have  got  Satanic  and  agricultural 
similes  into  the  same  sentence.  But  your  charity  covers 
even  such  a  sin  as  that  very  old  joke  about  husbandry. 
I  do  hope  things  will  turn  out  better  than  the  wiseacres 
would  have  it.  It's  such  a  comfort  to  see  the  talent 
wrong  sometimes." 

When  Blanche  Ellerslie  lay  down  to  rest,  on  the  eve 
of  her  second  wedding-day,  she  could  not  help  comparing 
her  sensations  with  what  she  had  felt  at  a  similar  season 
once  before.  Though  she  was  very  young  then,  she  had 
tasted,  in  all  innocence,  of  the  fruit  of  the  tree  of  knowl- 
edge of  good  and  evil,  and  she  was  not  much  overcome 
by  the  vague  terrors  that  beset  guileless  maidenhood 
just  about  to  cross  the  frontier  of  an  unknown  land. 
Left  motherless  in  her  childhood,  she  had  managed  a 
household  at  an  age  when  most  girls  are  still  in  school- 
trammels.  General  Norman,  when  off  duty,  was  too 
busy  with  his  own  pursuits  to  keep  strict  watch  and 
ward  over  the  proceedings  of  his  charming  daughter. 
He  was  only  too  glad  to  see  her  amusing  herself  in  her 
own  way;  and,  though  he  told  his  friends  in  confidence, 
sometimes,  that  "such  an  arrant  little  flirt  never  breathed," 
he  said  it  rather  pleasantly  than  complainingly,  and  never 
dreamed  of  the  possibility  of  her  coming  to  harm. 

The  old  soldier,  though  not  very  wise  in  his  genera- 
tion, was  right  so  far.  Blanche,  before  she  was  far 
advanced  in  her  teens,  was  well  able  to  defend  her  own 
heart.  Love-whispers  not  a  few  had  been  poured  into 
her  ears,  before  Walter  Ellerslie's  deep,  grave  tones 


100  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

made'  the  offer  of  marriage;  but  she  had  never  been 
hampered  by  a  serious  attachment,  or  even  by  a  fancy 
that  survived  a  week;  neither  had  she  any  repugnance 
to  overcome.  Perhaps  she  would  have  preferred  a  hus- 
band whose 

locks  were  like  the  raven's, 
Whose  bonnie  brow  was  brent. 

But  this  was  a  mere  matter  of  taste,  not  worth  insisting 
on ;  and  she  felt  somehow  that  she  would  be  safer  and 
happier,  and  freer  to  boot,  in  the  long  run,  under  the 
guardianship  of  the  stiff,  stern  soldier,  than  under  that 
of  the  gay  gallants  whose  lissom  knees  would  bend  each 
night  before  a  fresh  beauty.  She  fully  intended  to  make 
Colonel  Ellerslie's  home  bright  and  cheery;  and  that 
resolve  she  worked  out  to  the  letter,  after  her  own 
fashion.  At  least,  he  thought  so  who  ought  to  have 
known  best,  and  said  so  when  he  lay  a-dying. 

She  had  sat  on  her  first  husband's  knee,  and  played 
with  his  sword-hilt,  when  she  was  quite  a  child;  he  gave 
her  the  first  ornament  she  ever  wore, — a  waist-belt  of 
regimental  gold  lace ;  and  she  had  got  so  thoroughly 
used  to  him,  that,  on  the  eve  of  the  day  when  she  was 
to  take  his  name,  she  hardly  felt  as  if  she  were  going  to 
enter  a  strange  home.  It  was  very  different  with  her 
now.  She  had  known  Mark  Ramsay  scarcely  four 
months,  and  there  was  no  reason  why  she  should  feel 
safe  in  trusting  herself  implicitly  to  his  mercy:  indeed, 
now  that  she  was  about  so  to  trust  herself,  there  were 
less  grounds,  as  she  knew  full  well,  for  confidence  than 
for  fear. 

To  his  mercy.  That  was  the  only  true  way  of  putting 
it.  That  she  had  firm  and  fast  hold  on  his  affection  now 
she  could  not  doubt;  but,  if  that  hold  were  ever  to  be 
loosened,  or  cast  off  altogether,  she  felt  she  would  have 
nothing  else  to  cling  to  in  this  life,  or — if  truth  must  be 
written — in  the  next.  Blanche  was  not  absolutely  a 
heathen,  but  she  had  never  been  taught  to  say  a  prayer 
except  by  rote,  and  hers  was  but  a  lip-religion  at  the 
best.  Her  perishable  wealth,  such  as  it  was,  was  all 
locked  up  in  treasure-houses  that,  if  they  keep  out  the 
robber,  cannot  for  long  keep  out  the  canker-worm.  She 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  101 

had  made  a  plaything  of  love  till  now ;  suddenly  the 
laughing  child  had  waxed  into  a  giant's  stature,  and  stood 
before  her — dark-browed,  armed,  menacing.  Into  the 
fair  house  so  long  tenantless,  though  swept  and  gar- 
nished, the  strong  spirit  had  entered ;  what  manner  of 
spirit  it  was,  could  be  proven  in  the  future  only. 

She  felt  somewhat  like  a  gamester  who,  having  always 
till  now  played  for  the  merest  trifle,  finds  himself  lured 
on  to  deeper  and  deeper  stakes,  till  at  last  all  his  fortune 
is  set  upon  one  cast — a  cast  yet  to  be  thrown. 

Pondering  on  these  things,  it  is  no  wonder  if  Blanche 
Ellerslie's  heart  fluttered  strangely;  but  she  never  re- 
pented for  an  instant,  or  wished  the  morrow  deferred, 
and  the  tremor  only  gave  a  keener  zest  to  the  delight  of 
anticipated  happiness.  She  would  not  have  set  the 
shadow  of  the  next  morning's  sun  one  hair's-breadth 
back  on  the  dial.  A  smile  lingered  on  her  lips  long  after 
her  eyes  were  closed ;  and,  if  her  sleep  was  not  dream- 
less that  night,  it  was  haunted  by  no  visions  of  warning. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

FEW  men,  if  they  told  truth,  would  not  own  to  having 
experienced  some  curious  sensations  when  they  came  to 
realize  that  with  another  round  of  the  clock  the  thread 
of  their  bachelor  life  must  be  cut  in  twain. 

It  is  not  a  very  terrible  death,  certainly.  The  Wielder 
of  the  shears  wears  a  fair  white  robe,  all  beribboned  and 
purple-fringed,  and  over  her  features  there  falls  the  bright- 
est of  saffron  veils  ;  but,  mask  it  as  gayly  as  she  will,  we 
know  it  is  Atropos,  and  none  other,  that  cometh  in  the 
morning.  Even  the  impetuous  lover — who  for  the  last 
month  past  has  quarreled  with  the  tardiness  of  time — 
may,  without  treason,  at  such  an  hour  indulge  in  two  or 
three  retrospective  sighs.  These  last  hours  are  spent  dif- 
ferently, of  course — often  very  differently  from  what  one 

9* 


1U2  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

would  expect  from  previous  knowledge  of  the  person ;  but 
I  think  they  are  not  often  spent  alone. 

Not  long  ago,  a  man,  who  has  since  turned  out  a  per- 
fect prize  husband,  was  found,  very  late  on  the  eve  of 
his  wedding-day,  wandering  through  the  groves  of  Cre- 
morne.  He  was  no  roistering  Alsatian ;  the  place  had 
never  been  a  favorite  haunt  of  his;  and  I  dare  swear 
there  was  not  a  single  wish  or  regret  then  in  his  honest 
heart  that  his  bride  might  not  have  known  and  approved. 
When  put  upon  his  defense  there  and  then  by  certain  ac- 
quaintances, who  pretended  to  be  scandalized  at  lighting 
on  him  there,  his  sole  excuse  was  that  it  was  too  hot  for 
any  smoking-room,  and  he  came  there  for  company.  It 
was  the  simple  truth,  I  have  no  doubt.  He  had  less 
reason,  perhaps,  than  most  people  to  dread  being  left 
alone  with  his  own  thoughts ;  but  he  preferred  any  so- 
ciety to  theirs  just  then. 

Mark  Ramsay  was  not  given  to  sentimentalize,  and — 
troubling  himself  not  a  whit  about  the  past — was  nearly 
a  fatalist  as  to  the  future  He  had  a  presentiment,  as 
has  been  hinted  before,  that  retributive  justice,  in  one 
shape  or  other,  would  lay  hands  on  him  some  day ;  but 
he  felt  no  awe  of  the  distant  shadow.  Whether  the 
sword  over  his  head  swung  by  a  steel  wire  or  a  silken 
thread,  he  cared  not  to  inquire,  and  fully  meant  to  take 
his  ease  after  his  own  fashion  till  the  blow  should  fall. 
He  was  no  surface  Sybarite :  his  thoughts  were  so  thor- 
oughly drilled  that,  if  he  could  not  always  regulate  their 
flow,  he  could  at  least  draw  them  out  of  any  disagreeable 
channel ;  so  that  they  were  scarcely  likely  to  give  him 
much  trouble  now.  Nevertheless,  he  had  been  careful  to 
provide  against  solitude  on  the  last  evening  of  his  bachelor- 
hood; and  another  beside  himself  heard  the  clocks  chime 
midnight  in  those  same  chambers  where  his  musing-fit 
after  the  Nithsdale  ball  had  ended  with  the  words,  "  I 
will." 

Mark  Ramsay  had  a  very  large  acquaintance,  and,  in 
despite  of  his  misdemeanors,  was  rather  popular  than 
otherwise  in  general  society;  but  if  he  had  lived  from 
youth  upward  the  life  of  a  recluse  he  could  not  have  had 
lower  intimates.  Such  a  term  certainly  would  not  apply 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  103 

to  his  present  companion ;  though  since  he  first  knew 
Vere  Alsager  he  had  been  much  in  his  company,  and 
each  could  have  told  curious  tales  of  the  other,  had  they 
been  given  to  babbling. 

Some  people  thought  Alsager's  face  singularly  hand- 
some. Picturesque  it  certainly  was— with  its  keen  aqui- 
line contour,  set  off  by  a  blue-black  beard,  whose  massive 
lustrous  waves  might  have  made  an  Osmanli  envious. 
His  deep-set  eyes  were  quiet  enough  as  a  rule;  but  now 
and  then  there  came  into  them  rather  a  truculent  look, 
after  seeing  which  once,  you  ceased  to  wonder  at  the 
man's  story.  It  was  a  simple  and  not  a  very  uncommon 
one. 

He  was  bred  to  diplomacy ;  and  was  on  the  fair  road  to 
advancement,  when  an  unlucky  accident — as  his  friends 
called  it,  though  the  world  in  general  gave  it  a  harsher 
name — turned  him  adrift  without  a  career.  Half  a  dozen 
different  versions  of  this  were  given  at  the  time;  none  of 
which,  perhaps,  were  absolutely  correct.  No  one  believed 
that  the  first  cause  of  offense  arose  out  of  the  difference 
of  opinion  at  the  Casino;  or  that  Agnello  Salviati,  the 
sweetest-tempered  of  voluptuaries,  would  have  made  a 
few  careless  words,  dropped  by  the  other,  the  pretext 
of  a  mortal  quarrel.  One  thing  was  certain — that  Alsa- 
ger might  easily  have  avoided  the  unhappy  issue,  had  he 
been  so  minded,  without  impeachment  of  his  honor.  This 
told  heavily  against  him.  There  was  a  rumor,  too,  more 
generally  believed  than  disbelieved,  of  a  woman,  thickly 
cloaked  and  veiled,  who  visited  him  late  that  night;  and 
of  agonized  entreaty,  and  bitter  wailing,  overheard  by 
some  who  lodged  under  the  same  roof;  and  people  would 
have  it  that  other  reasons,  besides  natural  grief  for  her 
only  brother,  drove  Maddalena  Salviati  soon  afterward 
into  the  shelter  of  the  cloister.  If  it  was  she  who  came 
to  plead,  that  night,  for  herself  or  another,  she  might 
have  spared  herself  the  trouble  and  the  shame.  There 
was  no  more  compassion  in  Vere  Alsager's  eyes,  than  if 
he  were  there  to  avenge  a  wrong,  when  he  took  his  place 
next  morning  for  the  barrier-duel ;  and  his  hand  was 
steady  enough  to  send  a  bullet  through  his  adversary's 
lungs,  before  the  forty  paces  betwixt  them  were  shortened 
by  three. 


104  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

Looking  at  it  in  its  most  favorable  light,  it  was  a  very 
ugly  story — so  ugly  that  all  the  family  interest,  used  un- 
sparingly in  the  delinquent's  behalf,  could  make  no  head 
against  it.  The  chief  of  the  Foreign  Office  in  those  days 
was  no  purist ;  but  his  bitterest  political  foes  avouched 
him  a  high-minded  gentleman ;  and  the  black  cross,  set 
by  him  over  against  Vere  Alsager's  name,  none  of  his 
successors  was  tempted  to  erase.  It  was  years  and  years 
ago  when  all  this  happened ;  and  Alsager — who  since  then 
had  lived  a  quiet  dilettante  life,  addicting  himself  chiefly 
to  painting,  wherein  he  had  acquired  no  mean  skill,  and 
giving  no  further  grave  cause  for  scandal  —  had  been 
gradually  taken  back  into  the  world's  good  graces,  till 
now  he  was  not  in  much  worse  repute  than  many  of 
whom  it  is  vaguely  whispered  that  "they  have  been  a 
little  wild  in  their  youth."  His  own  memory  was  not 
quite  so  accommodating.  He  never  thought  of  that  night 
— and  he  thought  of  it  often — without  intense  bitterness; 
the  bitterness  of  an  eager,  ambitious  man  by  whose  own 
act  and  deed  a  promising  career  has  been  marred,  with 
which  mingled,  perhaps,  certain  black  drops  of  remorse. 
But  then,  you  see,  he  knew  all  the  rights  of  the  story; 
wherein  he  had  the  advantage  of  any  living.  Even  Mark 
Ramsay,  who  paced  out  the  ground  from  the  barrier  and 
measured  to  a  grain  the  charge  of  the  fatal  pistol,  was 
only  partially  taken  into  his  principal's  confidence  at  the 
time ;  and  since  then,  by  tacit  consent,  the  subject  had 
been  ignored  betwixt  them. 

All  the  circumstances  considered,  one  might  have 
thought  that  Ramsay,  lacking  a  groomsman,  would  have 
chosen  some  other  than  Alsager.  The  parallel  of  one 
good  turn  deserving  another  would  scarcely  apply  here. 
Yet  both  seemed  to  think  the  arrangement  perfectly 
natural :  when  Vere  said,  "  Of  course,  I  shall  be  very 
happy,"  the  other  thoroughly  understood  the  meaning  of 
his  smile.  And  so  it  was  settled. 

It  was  characteristic  of  the  two  men  that,  though  they 
had  dined  and  spent  all  the  evening  together,  neither  had 
made  the  faintest  allusion  to  the  event  of  the  morrow. 
They  had  analyzed  the  racing  of  the  past  week,  and  the 
chances  of  certain  of  their  fellows  surviving  the  next 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  105 

great  meeting — for  plunging  was  much  affected  by  the 
set  to  which  they  both  belonged — decided  that  the  great 
Ethiopian  opera  was  a  delusion  and  a  snare,  and  that 
its  impresario,  through  age  and  overfeeding,  had  become 
incapable  of  judging  whether  voices  were  cracked  or  legs 
crooked — discussed  the  latest  alliances,  legal  or  illegal, 
of  their  mutual  acquaintances;  but  of  Mark's  marriage 
not  one  word. 

"  Perfect  chambers,  certainly,"  Alsager  remarked,  after 
a  long  pause,  making  a  blue  smoke-wreath  curl  round  the 
bronze  torso  of  a  dancing  faun;  "quite  ornamental 
enough,  and  not  overdone.  I  hate,  when  I'm  sitting  in 
a  man's  room,  to  be  always  reminded  of  a  boudoir  in  the 
Quartier  Breda." 

"  Yes.  Clinton  had  very  chaste  notions  of  furnish- 
ing," the  other  assented,  "  which  is  odd  enough,  remem- 
bering what  his  other  tastes  were.  I  took  this  place  off 
his  hands  just  as  it  stood,  when  he  was  obliged  to  make 
a  moonlight  flitting.  There  was  no  valuation;  and  I 
gave  him  his  own  price  without  chaffering;  but  I  fancy 
I  got  a  real  bargain.  Nothing  you  see  is  really  mine,  so 
far  as  choice  goes,  except  a  few  pictures  and  statuettes; 
and  I  haven't  been  long  enough  here  to  feel  thoroughly 
domesticated:  so  there's  no  great  reason  why  I  should 
be  plaintive  about  changing  my  quarters." 

A  little,  incredulous  laugh  stirred  the  black  waves  of 
Alsager's  beard. 

"  You're  improving,"  he  said.  "  Till  now,  I  never 
guessed  that  you  would  undervalue  a  pretty  thing  be- 
cause another  man  owned  it,  or  that  you  could  not  be 
comfortable  unless  you  felt  thoroughly  domesticated. 
Made  nova  virtute.  The  will-o'-the-wisp  will  be  a  steady, 
shining  light,  before  all's  done.  What  do  you  mean  to 
do  about  these  chambers? — to  let  some  one  else  have 
them,  all  standing?  That's  the  simplest  way.  I  wish  I 
could  afford  to  take  them,  I  know." 

"I've  hardly  made  up  my  mind,"  Mark  answered. 
"  I'm  in  no  particular  hurry  about  it  There's  nothing 
here  I  should  care  to  move  all  the  way  to  Scotland;  and 
I  sha'n't  look  out  for  a  town-house  till  next  spring.  I'll 
tell  you  what,  Vere;  you  may  live  here  till  then,  if  you 


106  .BREAKING   A    BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

like — rent-free,  of  course.  It's  no  favor.  I'd  infinitely 
sooner  leave  my  things  in  your  charge  than  at  the  old 
housekeeper's  mercy.  Will  you  come?" 

"  I  should  like  it,  of  all  things,"  the  other  said ;  "though, 
if  it  isn't  a  favor,  I've  very  vague  ideas  of  benevolence. 
The  worst  of  it  is,  one  would  never  be  able  to  go  back 
and  settle  down  in  dingy  lodgings  again.  Never  mind. 
Unto  the  day,  the  day.  I  accept  all  the  same.  I'm  very 
disinterested,  you  see ;  for  I  can't  understand  why  you 
don't  clear  out  at  once.  You  could  easily  put  your  nick- 
nacks  in  safe-keeping  somewhere;  and  it's  so  utterly  im- 
possible that  you  could  ever  use  these  chambers  again." 

"  Highly  improbable,  certainly ;  but — as  for  impossible, 
it's  a  very  big  word ;  too  big  for  my  dictionary,  I 
know." 

They  looked  at  each  other;  and  Alsager  smiled. 

"Ah,  I  understand.  A  wise  general  always  provides 
for  retreat.  Your  provisions  are  made  in  good  time. 
Mark, — the  devil's  in  it,  if  we  two  can't  speak  frankly, — 
you'll  own,  it  is  a  leap  in  the  dark  you  are  taking,  after 
all  ?" 

"  Very  much  in  the  dark,"  the  other  answered,  coolly. 
"  But  the  landing  is  likely  to  be  as  safe,  or  more  so,  than 
in  most  of  the  jumps  that  we  have  taken  with  our  eyes 
open.  One  thing  I  am  certain  of, — if  I'm  not  comfort  able 
it  will  be  my  own  fault  or  misfortune ;  and  so  you'll  see 
when  you  come  to  know  Blanche  better.  There  are 
dozens  of  women  all  round  us  prettier  and  wittier  and 
better  than  she  is,  I  dare  say;  but  she  is  simply  the  most 
sociable  creature  I  ever  met  with ;  her  voice  and  manner, 
let  alone  her  face,  grow  on  you  quite  curiously." 

"I  never  doubted  Mrs.  Ellerslie's  attractions," Alsager 
said,  "and  I  dare  say  you  could  not  have  made  a  luckier 
choice.  What  I  did  doubt  was — whether  you  should 
have  chosen  at  all.  But  we're  creatures  of  circumstance 
much  more  than  of  habit,  I  do  believe;  and,  perhaps,  if 
any  one  left  me  a  big  property  and  a  big  house,  I  should 
begin  to  feel  matrimonial  immediately,  as  a  matter  of 
course.  It  isn't  likely  such  a  good  part  will  ever  be  cast 
to  me ;  but,  I  confess,  I  look  forward  to  seeing  you  play 
the  Head  of  the  Family/' 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  IQT 

"  Mind  you  do  come  and  see  it,  then,"  Ramsay  re- 
torted. "  There's  no  disease  in  the  Kenlis  moors  so  far, 
I  hear:  they  are  only  overstocked,  and  want  shooting 
down.  I  shall  reckon  on  you  early  in  August,  mind." 

He  stretched  himself  as  he  spoke,  pitching  the  end 
of  his  cigar  away.  The  other  took  the  hint,  and  rose. 

"  Yes;  it's  full  time  we  went  to  bed.  It's  no  question 
of  steadiness  of  eye  and  hand  to-morrow ;  but  the  break- 
fast is  an  awful  trial  of  nerve;  I'm  not  afraid  of  the 
church-work." 

"  Very  brave  of  you,  I  must  say.  Now,  I  think  it's 
just  as  well,  for  your  sake,  there's  no  sprinkling  of  holy 
water  in  our  marriage-service  over  the  assistants ;  there's 
no  knowing  what  the  effect  might  be.  Good-night :  mind 
you're  ready  when  I  call  for  you." 

"  'The  assistants,'"  Vere  Alsager  thought  within  him- 
self, as  he  strode  away.  "  And  how  about  the  principals  ? 
They  have  no  need  to  shrink  from  holy  water,  of  course 
— particularly  St.  Mark  yonder.  I've  done  some  queerish 
things  in  my  time;  but,  if  his  past  were  weighed  against 
mine,  I  know  which  side  would  kick  the  beam.  It's  kind 
of  him,  too,  to  lend  me  these  chambers;  though  I  ques- 
tion if  it's  quite  disinterested  kindness.  Bah!  I'm  always 
questioning;  and  what's  the  use  of  it?  Perhaps  it  will 
be  longer  than  next  spring  before  he  wants  to  make  use 
of  his  petite  maison:  perhaps  he  never  had  the  idea,  after 
all.  I  like  what  I  have  seen  of  her.  Those  dainty,  deli- 
cate women  are  piquant  long  after  they  cease  to  be  pretty ; 
and  hers  is  a  face  that  will  last.  I  shouldn't  mind  paint- 
ing it.  I'll  book  Kenlis  for  August,  at  all  events:  it 
won't  be  half  a  bad  place  to  stay  at,  as  long  as  things  go 
on  smoothly." 


108  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

DID  you  ever  "chance  to  read  Firmilian — the  most 
complete  literary  mystification  of  modern  times  ?  You 
may  be  sure  it  has  not  been  forgotten  yet  by  the  ill-used 
critics  who  sat  in  judgment  on  its  merits  and  demerits, 
wagging  their  heads  over  its  spasmodic  vagaries  (though 
some,  tempering  judgment  with  mercy,  held  out  hope  of 
amendment  to  the  hot-brained  offender,  if  he  would  but 
profit  by  their  monitions),  and  who  found  out,  when  it 
was  too  late,  that  they  had  but  fed  the  laughter  of  the 
veteran  humorist,  who,  having  spread  the  net,  never 
stirred  tongue  nor  finger  till  the  grave  Palladian  birds 
were  fluttering  in  the  meshes. 

Truly,  the  mock  tragedy  deserves  to  be  remembered 
on  other  grounds  besides  these.  After  all,  the  spasmodic 
element  was  not  much  more  glaringly  developed  than  in 
parts  of  Festus,  and  others  of  the  same  school ;  and  many 
dramas,  worked  out  in  sober  earnest  and  profusely  sprin- 
kled with  the  midnight  oil,  lack  the  rhythm  and  power  of 
the  pasquinade  penned  for  pastime  in  the  summer  fore- 
noons by  Spey-side. 

There  is  great  pomp  and  festival  in  the  church  of  St. 
Nicholas.  The  sun  streams  full  and  fair  through  the 
gorgeous  window;  sweetly  and  slowly  rises  and  falls  the 
chant  of  the  trained  voices : — 

There  rolls  the  organ  anthem  down  the  aisle, 
And  thousand  voices  join  in  its  acclaim. 
All  they  are  happy — they  are  on  their  knees; 
Round  and  above  them  stare  the  images 
Of  antique  saints  and  martyrs;  the  censers  steam 
With  their  Arabian  charge  of  frankincense; 
And  every  heart,  with  inward  fingers,  counts 
The  blissful  rosary  of  pious  prayer. 

It  is  very  still  and  dark  in  the  vaults  below,  where  the 
powder-barrels  are  stored,  and  where  waits  the  busy 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  END1XG.  109 

mocker,  holding  the  slow-match  that  will  anon  send  the 
souls  of  all  those  good  worshipers  above  flitting  hither 
and  thither.  After  a  while  comes  the  last  triumphant 
antiphon — 

Xicholai,  sacerdotum 
Decus,  honor,  gloria: 
Plebem  omnem,  clerum  totum — 

And  then — 

[  The  cathedral  is  blown  up."] 

Not  long  ago,  I  heard  a  man  confess — he  was  not  given 
to  quaint  fancies,  nor  specially  sardonic  or  somber  of  tem- 
perament— that  he  never  listened  to  a  marriage-service 
without  thinking  of  that  same  cathedral  scene.  His  ex- 
perience of  life,  it  appeared,  had  forced  him  to  believe 
that  under  the  feet  of  most  couples  standing  face  to  face 
before  the  altar  there  is  stored  up  more  or  less  of  com- 
bustible elements,  the  firing  of  which  is  merely  a  ques- 
tion of  time ;  though  the  explosion  may  be  long  deferred, 
and,  when  it  occurs,  may  be  attended  with  nothing  more 
harmful  than  a  little  noise  and  smoke. 

But  even  this  foreboder  of  evil  would  have  been  puz- 
zled to  discover  anything  very  threatening  in  the  aspect 
of  things,  if  he  had  been  present  on  the  morning  when 
Mark  Ramsay  took  Blanche  Ellerslie  to  be  his  wedded 
wife.  Though  neither  the  bride  nor  the  bridegroom  had 
turned  the  corner  of  middle  life,  they  were  quite  old 
enough  to  know  their  own  minds  ;  and  neither  was  likely 
to  make  a  false  step  through  impulse  or  from  rashness. 
If  there  was  little  likelihood  of  intense  devotion  on  either 
side,  there  was  fair  promise  of  the  pleasant  companion- 
ship which  unites  people  endowed  with  similar  tastes 
and  facilities  for  indulging  the  same. 

Against  this  were  to  be  set,  of  course,  Ramsay's  ante- 
cedents, which  certainly  were  the  reverse  of  encouraging ; 
but  he  had  been  more  than  twelve  months,  as  it  were,  on 
his  probation,  and,  so  far  as  the  world  knew,  had  shown 
no  signs  of  relapse.  Society  in  general  was  disposed  to 
give  him  credit  for  having  turned  over  a  new  leaf.  If  he 
had  not  intended  henceforth  to  do  all  things  decently  and 
in  order,  there  was  no  earthly  reason  why  he  should 
have  hampered  himself  with  a  wife  or  a  regular  estab- 
lishment. Kenlis  Castle  was  a  fine  place,  to  be  sure; 

10 


110  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

but  there  were  others  quite  as  majestic  on  either  side  of 
the  Border,  the  honors  of  which  were  done  by  bachelors 
in  bachelor-fashion — in  the  most  liberal  sense  of  the  word. 
Mark's  was  one  of  the  exceptional  faces  that  never  look 
weather-beaten,  after  a  youth  ever  so  stormy ;  and  any 
one,  seeing  him  that  morning  for  the  first  time,  would 
have  found  it  hard  to  believe  that  half  the  stories  told  of 
him  could  be  true. 

It  was  meant  to  be  a  quiet  wedding,  and  the  invitation- 
list  was  purposely  limited  ;  but  the  concourse  of  specta- 
tors, larger  than  was  common  in  that  fashionable  church, 
proved  that  others  besides  the  intimate  acquaintance  of 
the  contracting  parties  were  curious  to  witness  their  es- 
pousal. Several  of  the  wedding-party,  to  whom  seats 
were  allotted  in  the  pews  nearest  the  altar,  may  have  felt 
like  the  Pope  at  Paris,  when  he  said  that  "  the  greatest 
wonder  of  the  town  was  to  see  him  there."  But  not  one 
of  them  seemed  so  thoroughly  out  of  place  as  Mr.  An- 
struther. 

The  color  and  fashion  of  his  garments,  more  funereal 
than  festive,  would  not  have  been  so  remarkable  (for 
Anglo-Indian  attire  is  apt  to  be  eccentric,  especially  when 
the  wearer  is  not  on  speaking-terms  with  his  tailor) ;  but 
the  settled  gloom  of  the  man's  countenance  was  not  so 
easily  to  be  accounted  for ;  and  the  nervous  discomfort 
of  his  manner  could  hardly  be  attributed  to  mere  lack  of 
familiarity  with  the  forms  and  ceremonies  of  the  Church 
as  by  law  established.  In  his  eyes,  usually  so  hard  and 
cold,  there  was  a  haggard  look,  not  pleasant  to  meet. 
Perhaps  he  was  vaguely  conscious  of  this ;  for  during 
the  delay  before  the  service  commenced,  and  throughout 
it  except  when  he  was  compelled  to  stand  up  with  the 
rest,  he  kept  his  face'  always  shaded  with  his  long,  bony 
hand. 

Yet,  when  Blanche  Ramsay  turned  away  from  the 
altar  and  descended  the  steps,  leaning  on  her  husband's 
arm,  it  so  chanced  that  the  first  glance"  that  met  hers,  as 
she  raised  her  eyes  rather  shyly,  was  George  Anstrutlier's. 
His  tall,  lanky  figure  could  scarcely  fail  to  be  prominent 
anywhere ;  and  he  stood  close  to  the  aisle.  A  supersti- 
tious person  might  have  taken  the  omen  somewhat  to 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  \\\ 

heart ;  and  Blanche,  who  believed  in  the  jettatura  no 
more  than  she  did  in  second-sight,  was  half  inclined  to 
regret  she  had  so  pressingly  insisted  on  the  presence  of 
this  especial  wedding-guest.  She  never  suspected  for  a 
moment  that  any  one  there  present  could  take  more  than 
a  friendly  interest  in  the  ceremony  just  concluded  ;  and, 
as  for  any  malice  or  uncharitableness  being  stirred  in  the 
breast  of  so  staid  a  personage  as  George  Anstruther,  she 
was  just  as  likely  to  impute  such  emotions  to  Mr.  Brance- 
peth.  who  gave  her  away.  If  she  had  been  forced  to 
answer  the  question  of  Oswald  Gauntlet's  searching  eyes, 
she  might  possibly  have  felt  rather  timid,  and  just  the 
least  bit  remorseful.  But  he  would  never  have  glared 
at  her  in  that  uncanny  fashion. 

Men,  out  of  Bedlam,  or  off  the  stage,  very  seldom  do 
glare  nowadays.  Those  that  she  has  jilted  most  cruelly, 
in>tead  of  confronting  the  bride  at  the  church-door  in  the 
antique  ballad  fashion,  bow  their  heads  meekly  and  court- 
eously as  she  passes  out,  even  if  they  do  not  hum  under 
their  breaths  Beranger's  gay  wicked  refrain : — 

Un  doux  espoir 

Me  sourit  encore 

De  la  couronne  de  la  mariee. 

Nevertheless,  the  glimpse  of  that  face  did  affect  Blanche 
Ramsay  with  a  faint  presentiment  of  ill  luck;  and  she 
shivcri-d  ever  so  .slightly — even  as  Horace's  fair  mistress 
may  have,  done  when,  stepping  daintily  toward  her  litter, 
she  caught  sight  of  the  snake 

Qtii  per  obliquuin  similis  sagitta;  terruit  mannos. 

The  wedding  procession  had  scarcely  passed  down  the 
aisle,  when  Mr.  Anstruther  begun  to  make  his  way  out 
of  the  church,  muttering  some  excuse  to  his  nearest 
neighbor  about  the  heat.  It  was  an  odd  pretext  for  him 
to  choose,  who  had  lived  so  long  where  1)0°  in  the  shade 
was  the  normal  state  of  the  thermometer,  and  who  had 
often,  in  old  times,  stirred  the  ire  of  portly  l><iln>i>*  by  look- 
ing comfortably  cool  in  an  atmosphere  that  caused  them 
to  pant  and  perspire.  Yet  it  was  not,  perhaps,  altogether 
a  false  one:  for  there  was  a  dark  flush  ro^nd  either 


112  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

cheek-bone;  and  if  you  had  touched  his  hand,  as  he 
dragged  his  gloves  off  impatiently,  you  would  have 
thought  there  was  fever  in  his  veins.  But  no  one  in  the 
crowd,  through  which  he  elbowed  his  way,  noticed  any- 
thing strange  in  his  demeanor ;  and  the  idlers  outside 
never  turned  their  heads  to  watch  the  gaunt,  ungainly 
figure  hurrying  away  with  long,  uneven  strides  through 
the  glaring  sunlight. 

The  breakfast  in  Craven  Square  was  not  nearly  so 
dreary  as  such  entertainments  are  wont  to  be.  The 
table  was  not  crowded,  and  almost  all  who  sat  round  it 
were  in  the  habit  of  meeting  each  other  daily.  Formal 
speech-making  would  have  been  utterly  out  of  place  there 
— so,  at  least,  thought  every  one  except  Mr.  Brancepeth. 

This  honest  gentleman  had  not  so  many  opportunities  of 
airing  the  eloquence  on  which  he  rather  prided  himself,  as 
to  lose  one  when  it  presented  itself.  He  had  been  a  hard- 
working member  of  the  Commons'  House  for  many  years, 
but  his  maiden  speech  was  yet  unspoken.  The  "whip1' 
of  his  party  regarded  Mr.  Brancepeth  with  an  immense 
respect  and  affection,  as  a  model  that  hair-brained,  garru- 
lous legislators  would  have  done  well  to  imitate.  He 
never  asked  importunate  or  impertinent  questions,  and 
when  he  was  wanted  was  sure  to  be  found  in  his  place, 
ready  to  vote  exactly  as  the  keeper  of  his  political  con- 
science directed,  listening  always — or  seeming  to  listen—- 
with impartial  patience  to  the  declamation  on  either  side, 
but  never  to  be  biased  in  the  faintest  degree  by  argument. 
persuasion,  or  diatribe.  Surely  he  had  a  perfect  right  to 
indemnify  himself  elsewhere  for  his  silence  at  St.  Ste- 
phen's; and  few  grudged  him  that  simple  satisfaction. 
At  quarter  sessions,  agricultural  meetings,  and  all  man- 
ner of  county  gatherings,  Mr.  Brancepeth  was  ahvays 
listened  to  with  greater  attention  than  more  brilliant 
orators  could  command,  while  he  glozed  on  through  one 
smooth  period  after  another,  enouncing  truisms  like 
startling  verities,  and  winding  up  with  a  peroration  in 
which  there  was  seldom  any  definite  conclusion. 

On  occasions  like  the  present  he  was  great.  The  face- 
tiae that  formed  his  stock-in-trade  were  rather  trite  and 
mild;  but  from  long  practice  he  had  acquired  a  knack  of 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  113 

setting  them  forth  so  that  they  did  not  seem  so  very 
threadbare ;  and  the  fumes  of  champagne,  consumed  at 
abnormal  hours,  are  apt  to  make  an  audience  rather  in- 
dulgent than  critical.  During  the  long,  purposeless  after- 
noon, when  the  idea  of  dinner  is  as  it  were  an  abomina- 
tion, we  wax  more  captious,  to  be  sure,  and  wonder  how 
we  could  have  been  weak  and  base  enough  to  smile  at 
the  platitudes  floating  in  our  memory.  But  this  is  a  mere 
question  of  digestion,  after  all.  If  any  of  Mr.  Brance- 
peth's  hearers  felt  bored  or  weary,  they  were  polite 
enough  to  suppress  all  outward  and  visible  signs  thereof. 
So,  in  perfect  charity  with  all  man  and  womankind,  he 
drank  to  the  health  of  the  bride  and  bridegroom,  and  fin- 
ished with  the  comfortable  conviction  of  having  achieved 
no  mean  social  success. 

La  Reine  Gaillarde  had  a  keen  sense  of  humor  of  her 
own ;  and  you  may  guess  that  the  exhibition  was  not 
particularly  agreeable  to  her.  But  she  was  not  inclined 
to  be  hard  on  any  innocent  weakness :  her  sigh  of  relief 
was  not  too  audible,  nor  her  smile  too  satirical,  when  the 
orator  sat  down.  Her  lord  and  master  had  shown  him- 
self so  very  amiable  about  all  arrangements  that  she  con- 
sidered he  had  quite  earned  the  license  of  making  himself 
ridiculous  if  it  so  pleased  him.  Most  men  think  they 
have  done  enough  if  they  play  father  to  a  comparative 
stranger  at  the  altar,  without  placing  their  mansion  at 
her  disposal  before  or  on  the  marriage-day. 

Mark  Ramsay  replied  in  half  a  dozen  sentences ;  and 
this  was  the  only  other  interruption  to  the  flow  of  general 
talk  that  went  on  pleasantly  enough  till  breakfast  broke  up. 

Availing  herself  of  the  widow's  privilege,  Blanche  had 
dispensed  with  bridesmaids  :  so  the  cynics — if  any  such 
were  present — were  balked  of  the  treat  of  hearing  the  ac- 
knowledgments of  innocence  and  beauty  spoken  by  the 
lips  of  Vere  Alsager. 

Among  the  advances  of  civilization  made  in  this  our 
century  ought  to  be  reckoned  the  shortening  of  honey- 
moons. Very  few  conversationalists  can  talk  quite  up  to 
fheir  mark  if  they  know  they  are  expected  to  be  amusing ; 
and  the  effect  of  being  expected  to  be  amative  for  a  cer- 
tain definite  period  must  often  be  much  the  same.  If  our 
H  10* 


114  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

grandsires  would  confess  the  truth,  we  should  hear,  1 
fancy,  that  the  sun  drove  his  chariot  somewhat  heavily 
before  the  twenty-eighth  day  of  enforced  seclusion  closed 
in;  and,  long  ere  that,  there  had  been  certain  misgivings 
as  to  the  perfect  truth  of  the  ancient  adage,  "  Two  are 
company :  three  are  none."  We  have  changed  all  this, 
most  assuredly.  Even  Mrs.  Malaprop,  whose  matrimonial 
ideas  were  somewhat  in  advance  of  her  age,  would  lift 
her  brows  in  wonder  over  the  curtness  of  some  wedding- 
trips. 

Dropping  into  a  certain  club  on  a  murky  afternoon  in 
this  very  spring,  to  my  great  wonderment  I  lighted  upon 
an  ancient  acquaintance  in  his  accustomed  place,  smoking 
his  cigarette,  and  sipping  his  perroquet,  in  the  contempla- 
tive fashion  that  is  usual  with  him  when  the  day  is  al- 
most done.  I  rubbed  my  eyes,  so  to  speak,  thinking  that 
I  saw  a  vision,  or  that,  at  the  least,  I  must  have  been 
dreaming  when  I  read,  not  twenty-four  hours  before,  the 
announcement  of  his  marriage.  Inclining  to  this  last 
opinion-,  I  expressed  it  in  so  many  words. 

"  There's  no  mistake,"  Randal  Lacy  said,  placidly.  "  We 
were  married  all  right  enough  ;  and  we  went  down  to 

"  (the  precise  locality  of  the  Arcadian  hostel  doesn't 

signify):  "  but  it  rained  all  yesterday,  and  our  windows 
were  on  the  ground-floor,  and  the  people  walking  under 
the  veranda  would  stare  at  us  ;  and  so — and  so — we  came 
back  to-day,  you  see ;  and  I'm  going  to  take  Nellie  to  the 
Prytaneum  to-night.  We've  got  the  stage-box  ;  and  she 
can  sit  back  behind  the  curtain.  Will  you  come  ?  There's 
lots  of  room." 

I  dont  know  a  happier  menage  than  this  has  been,  up 
to  the  present  moment  of  writing,  in  a  quiet,  domestic 
way,  or  one  that  holds  forth  fairer  promise  of  so  enduring. 

Now,  Ramsay  did  not  apprehend  that  either  himself  or 
Blanche  would  grow  weary  of  each  other  in  a  tete-d-tete, 
even  if  it  was  somewhat  prolonged ;  but  he  had  an  objec- 
tion on  principle  to  crucial  tests,  and  opined  that  sufficient 
solitude  for  all  reasonable  purposes  could  be  found  in  the 
skirts,  if  not  in  the  heart,  of  a  crowd.  If  Kenlis  Castle 
had  been  habitable,  he  would  have  gone  thither  straight- 
way; but  there  was  much  still  to  be  done  there  before  the 


BLANCHE  ELLERSME'S-  ENDING.          .    115 

bride  could  fitly  be  brought  home.  He  might  have  found 
shelter  in  the  country-houses  of  half  a  dozen  friends  ;  but 
Mark  was  not  minded  to  begin  his  married  life  by  trust- 
ing to  the  mercies  of  another  man's  household.  On  the 
whole,  he  thought  that  Paris  would  be  as  good  a  lounging- 
place  as  any;  and  Blanche,  when  the  idea  was  suggested 
to  her,  adopted  it  quite  eagerly.  So  it  came  to  pass  that 
their  second  domestic  dinner  was  eaten  in  the  Place  Ven- 
dome. 

It  was  one  of  the  close  sultry  evenings,  more  trying 
to  natural  complexions  than  the  glare  of  lamp  or  sun. 
Blanche  was  quite  refreshing  to  look  upon  in  her  pale- 
gray  dress — relieved  at  the  neck  and  wrist  by  trimmings 
of  filmy  lace — not  a  braid  of  her  smooth  soft  hair  ruffled 
or  awry,  and  with  just  the  faint  flush  on  her  cheek  that 
an  artist  would  have  chosen  to  see  there.  Mark's  critical 
eye  took  in  every  point  of  the  picture  with  profound  satis- 
faction, as  he  realized  how  much  more  suited  to  his  taste 
was  that  demure  little  person  than  any  brilliant  beauty 
of  the  Fornarina  type,  magnificent  in  redundant  outline 
and  gorgeous  coloring. 

Two  days  of  Blanche's  exclusive  society  had  made  him 
more  fully  aware  than  he  had  ever  yet  been  how  thor- 
oughly pleasant  a  companion  he  had  found.  There  was 
nothing  impulsive,  or  demonstrative,  or  expansive  about 
her :  though  it  was  evident  that  she  liked  being  petted 
above  all  things,  she  was  not  exacting,  or  lavish  of  her 
own  caresses.  It  would  have  needed  a  very  subtle  analy- 
sis to  discover  a  single  acid  drop  in  all  her  composition ; 
but  there  was  no  danger,  with  her,  of  being  cloyed  with 
too  much  honey.  The  very  sound  of  her  voice  would  have 
been  a  specific  for  more  irritable  nerves  than  Ramsay's  ; 
and  the  most  indolent  of  talkers  deemed  it  worth  while  to 
be  amusing  only  to  provoke  one  trill  of  her  low  laugh- 
music. 

With  these  thoughts  in  his  mind,  said  Mark,  after  sit- 
ting silent  awhile — 

"  Is  there  anything  you  care  particularly  about  seeing 
here,  Blanche  ?  or  are  any  of  your  commissions  very 
pressing?  If  not,  I  think  we  might  as  well  move  into 
cooler  quarters  while  this  heat  lasts.  Foutainebleau  isn't 


116  BREAKING  A    BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

half  a  bad  place :  there's  always  shade  in  the  forest,  and 
generally  a  breeze  somewhere,  if  you  know  where  to  look 
for  it." 

"  I've  never  been  at  Fontainebleau,"  she  answered ; 
"but  it  must  be  quite  charming  in  this  weather.  My 
commissions  can  wait ;  and  as  for  sight-seeing,  I  went 
through  that  penance  long,  long  ago,  when " 

Her  face  was  a  little  grave  as  she  stopped :  the  next 
instant,  in  spite  of  herself,  she  smiled. 

She  always  thought  kindly,  if  not  tenderly,  of  honest 
Walter  Ellerslie.  It  was  with  him  she  had  lionized  Paris 
when  they  had  been  married  about  a  year  ;  and  she 
remembered  how  each  morning  at  breakfast  he  used  to 
pore  over  Galignani  as  if  it  had  been  a  new  drill-book — 
wrinkling  his  forehead,  and  knitting  his  brows,  while  he 
mapped  out  that  day's  work — conscientiously  making  a 
toil  of  every  pleasure,  after  the  fashion  of  a  thorough-going 
British  tourist.  She  had  plodded  through  the  weary 
round  quite  patiently  then ;  but  she  had  not  forgotten  her 
thankfulness  when  it  was  over.  It  was  partly  those 
memories  that  made  her  smile,  partly  the  contrast  of  the 
present  with  the  past.  Truly,  there  was  not  much  fear 
of  any  woman,  traveling  under  Mark  Ramsay's  escort, 
being  driven  against  her  will  into  the  performance  of  any 
duty  whatsoever,  much  less  an  irksome  one. 

Thus  the  wise  and  worldly  resolves  of  this  pair  went 
for  naught,  after  all ;  and  a  full  week  of  their  honeymoon 
was  spent,  not  only  in  solitude,  but  "under  the  green- 
wood tree." 

It  was  the  very  happiest  week  of  all  Blanche  Ramsay's 
life.  Even  had  she  visited  it  alone,  the  place  would  have 
had  great  attractions  for  her.  She  liked  intensely  the 
slow  drives  through  forest-land,  and  the  long  halts  under 
the  great  oaks  and  beeches,  that  are  just  as  liberal  of  their 
shade  now  as  when  the  beauties  of  the  old  time  rested 
there  after  the  "hallali!"  had  been  sounded  over  a  hart- 
royal  ;  she  liked  the  ugly,  formal  gardens,  that  can  scarcely 
have  changed  since  the  reines  m&res  rustled  along  their 
alleys;  she  liked  the  quaint,  low-browed  courts  better 
than  if  each  had  been  a  model  of  architecture.  In  this 
fancy  she  was  not  alone. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  117 

There  are  few  places  that  bring  up  the  past  more 
vividly,  to  others  besides  antiquarians,  than  Fontaine- 
bleau.  Though  time,  and  neglect,  and  revolution  have 
left  their  marks  plainly  enough  there,  a  pleasant  rococo 
savor  still  hangs  about  the  place,  heightened  rather  than 
marred  by  the  restorations  of  the  Citizen  King.  The 
double  initials,  "  H.  D.,"  intertwined  so  tenderly,  still 
look  almost  as  fresh  as  when  they  were  first  set  up  to  the 
glory  of  the  superb  courtesan  who  carried  the  garment  of 
infamy  as  if  it  had  been  a  robe  of  honor.  In  the  Galerie 
des  Cerfs  you  can  stand  on  the  very  spot  where  Monal- 
deschi  was  done  to  death  under  the  eyes  of  the  Swedish 
Messalina.  Leaning  out  of  the  window  of  the  Queen'a 
boudoir,  you  touch  the  espagnolette  wrought  by  the  cun- 
ning hand  of  Louis  the  locksmith  ;  and  you  can  fancy  the 
smile — half  kindly,  half  scornful — with  which  the  haughty 
Austrian  paid  the  labor  that  proceeded  of  love.  Altogether 
a  place  fitter  to  dream  in,  than  many  to  which  Art  and 
Nature  have  been  more  kind. 

Blanche  had  no  drawback  to  her  pleasure,  in  a  suspicion 
that  her  husband  was  bored.  He  had  seen  all  these  things 
before,  of  course  ;  but,  if  they  had  no  fresh  interest  for 
him  now,  it  was  excellently  feigned.  Blanche  could  have 
stayed  another  and  another  week  there,  without  a  chance 
of  growing  weary ;  yet,  when  the  hot  weather  broke  up 
in  rain  that  looked  like  lasting,  it  was  she  who  suggested 
a  move  back  on  Paris.  It  was  just  the  instance  of 
womanly  tact  that  Mark  could  appreciate  ;  and  that  he 
could  do  so  he  showed  plainly  enough,  though  his  appro- 
bation was  not  uttered  in  words. 


118  BREAKING   A    BUTTERFLY;     OR, 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THERE  have  been  many  changes  in  Paris -of  late  years, 
besides  those  for  which  the  Prefecture  is  accountable:  old 
types,  no  less  than  old  streets,  have  been  swept  away ; 
and  the  British  resident  has  not  been  exempt  from  the 
spirit  of  change. 

A  quarter  of  a  century  ago,  he  was  a  decent  domestic 
creature,  usually  of  a  certain  age  ;  not  absolutely  in  em- 
barrassed circumstances,  yet  under  necessity  of  retrench- 
ment ;  and  always  bent  on  ministering  to  the  educational 
demands  of  a  growing  family  at  a  reasonable  rate.  Ccelum 
non  animum  mutabat.  After  the  first  bustle  of  removal 
was  over,  he  went  on  contentedly  enough  in  his  old  hum- 
drum way — the  right  of  grumbling,  of  course,  always 
reserved — looking  out  for  his  special  corner-seat  at  Gali- 
gnani's,  as  he  was  wont  to  look  for  the  club  arm-chair ; 
indulging  but  rarely  in  the  dissipation  of  a  cafe  dinner  at 
his  own  charge;  and  frequenting  theater  or  opera  not 
much  more  sedulously  than  he  was  wont  to  do  during  a 
trip  to  London  in  the  old  days.  Little  versed  were  these 
quiet  spirits  in  the  chroniques  scandaleuses  of  the  day ; 
an  emeute  in  the  Quartier  Breda  interested  them  no  more 
than  a  revolution  in  Ashantee.  They  seldom  sought  to 
master  the  intricate  idioms  of  the  foreign  tongue;  and,  if 
they  could  steer  clear  of  glaring  faults  in  grammar,  were 
no  more  ashamed  of  their  fine  broad  British  accent  than 
of  any  other  proof  of  their  nationality. 

Among  them  there  were  always  to  be  found,  of  course, 
certain  roisterers,  doing  penance  for  past  sins  and  follies 
in  enforced  exile;  and  not  hankering  the  less  after  Egyp- 
tian dainties,  since  they  were  forbidden  to  taste  the  flesh- 
pots.  But  these  were  the  exceptions  to  the  rule;  and 
regarded  with  little  favor  by  their  fellows,  who  gave  these 
black  sheep  as  wide  a  berth  as  was  consistent  with 
courtesy — by  no  means  encouraging  them  to  frequent  the 
pastures  in  which  their  own  lambkins  strayed. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  H9 

That  modest  colony  is  utterly  broken  up  and  dispersed 
now.  The  remnants  thereof  have  migrated  to  Tours, 
Toulouse,  and  provincial  towns  yet  more  remote  from 
the  costly  capital,  where  the  space  left  for'  the  poor  and 
needy  is  narrowed  hour  by  hour.  In  their  places  sit 
another  generation  of  aliens,  differing  from  those  sober 
sojourners  as  widely  as  Rochester  and  his  crew  from  the 
worthies  of  the  Commonwealth;  scarcely  alien,  either,  if 
taking  art  and  part  in  all  the  vices  of  his  adopted  coun- 
try can  make  out  a  man's  claim  to  naturalization. 

The  Anglo-Gaul  at  present  is  a  jaunty  gallant — usually 
in  the  flower  of  his  age ;  with  a  full,  if  not  a  fathomless, 
purse ;  lisping  out  impurities  with  the  purest  of  accents, 
and  able  to  answer  the  argot  of  the  coulisses  in  kind  ; 
found  at  all  races  within  the  jockey-club  enceihte;  and, 
when  baccarat  is  afloat  at  the  Cercle  des  Creves,  holding 
his  own  undauntedly  against  all  plungers — Jew,  Turk, 
Christian,  or  infidel ;  in  fine,  hurrying  down  the  broad 
slope  of  ruin  in  all  respects  with  as  easy  a  grace  as  if  he 
traced  his  descent  from  Grammont  or  Montmorency.  No 
wonder  that  the  fair  city  accords  to  these  strangers  within 
her  gates  a  very  different  welcome  from  that  which  she 
deigned  to  bestow  on  their  modest  predecessors. 

In  this  especial  clique  Ramsay  could  not  exactly  be 
reckoned.  Till  quite  lately  he  had  been  too  poor  to  live 
their  pace,  and  too  prudent  to  hazard  a  certain  break- 
down ;  and  since  he  became  wealthy,  business  of  one  sort 
or  another  had  kept  him  chiefly  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Channel.  But  he  was  thoroughly  at  home  here,  and  at 
two  Cercles  his  face  was  better  known  than  in  any  Lon- 
don club. 

The  season  was  virtually  over,  and  each  day  the  trains 
starting  for  frontier  or  seaboard  carried  away  a  heavier 
freight ;  but  the  Bois  was  not  a  solitude  as  yet,  and  a 
score  at  least  of  ancient  acquaintances  greeted  Ramsay 
the  first  time  he  appeared  there.  The  news  of  his  mar- 
riage had  gone  before  him;  and  Blanche  had  to  run  the 
gauntlet  of  many  curious  glances  before  their  carriage 
reached  the  turnfng-point  at  the  head  of  the  lake.  On 
the  whole,  she  came  out  of  the  ordeal  very  cleverly. 

"  Un  pen.  pdlolle ;   main  fjcnlille  a  croquet- ,  avec  un 


120  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

morbidezza  delicieuse — "  said  Amedee  de  Beauraanoir, 
a  veteran  viveur,  whose  valuation  of  fresh  faces  carried 
as  much  weight  as  the  Admiral's  judgment  of  a  yearling. 

Coquettes  of  a  certain  grade  know  by  instinct  when 
they  have  achieved  a  success,  before  a  compliment — ever 
so  delicately  veiled — has  reached  their  ears.  Despite 
this  satisfaction,  it  was  not  without  a  sinking  of  the  heart 
that  Blanche  realized,  during  that  first  drive,  that  she 
must  not  expect  to  have  her  husband  entirely  to  herself 
for  some  time  to  come.  She  was  not  discontented  or 
disappointed ;  for  their  t&te-fr-tete  had  lasted  already 
longer  than  she  had  hoped;  and  she  did  not  feel — much 
less  look  or  express — surprise  when,  after  dinner  that 
evening,  he  left  her  "to  look  in  at  the  Cercle  for  an 
hour."  A  very  elastic  hour;  for  it  slid  into  another  day, 
and  Blanche  was  sleeping  placidly  before  it  ended.  At 
breakfast  next  morning  it  was  so  evident  that  she  expected 
no  excuse,  that  Mark  never  thought  of  composing  one. 
Nothing  could  be  more  prettily  saucy  than  her  smile  as 
she  listened  to  his  epitome  of  the  congratulations  offered 
him  over-night. 

Mrs.  Ramsay  had  a  long  list  of  commissions  to  execute 
for  herself  and  others,  and  she  preferred  going  about  this 
business  alone,  she  said;  so  they  did  not  meet  again  till 
the  evening.  After  an  early  dinner,  they  went  straight 
to  the  Boutfes,  where  a  famous  operetta  was  being  played 
for  about  the  fourJiundredth  time. 

You  know  the  operetta  and  the  fashion  thereof.  Not 
a  very  potent  or  generous  liquor  fills  the  jeweled  cup  that 
the  wicked  princess  waves  before  us  so  deftly.  It  has 
plenty  of  froth  and  sparkle,  and  flavor  enough  to  please 
a  not-too-curious  palate  ;  and  there  is  small  danger  of  the 
weakest  head  being  turned  thereby.  Feet  and  hands — 
to  say  nothing  of  eyes — have  quite  as  much  to  do  as  the 
lips  here :  the  prima  donna,  if  only  she  be  perfect  in  such 
arts  of  provocation — though  a  singer  whose  compass  and 
sweetness  of  voice  could  hardly  vie  with  a  Bayadere's — 
need  seldom  despair  of  triumph. 

What  would  Bcaumkfchais  have  said  of  the  public  that 
can  assist  nightly  at  such  a  performance  as  this — never 
craving  for  novelty,  and  by  their  persevering  enthusiasm 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  121 

giving  the  claque,  after  the  first  week,  a  sinecure  ?  If  lie 
were  in  the  flesh  again,  he  might,  with  some  justice,  have 
been  severe  on  the  derogation  of  Parisian  taste ;  but 
wherefore  we  insulars  should  shrug  our  shoulders  thereat 
would  be  rather  hard  to  say.  How  many  times,  I  won- 
der, have  you  and  I  sat  through  a  sensational  drama, 
waiting  patiently  for  the  leap  into  a  fathomless  abyss 
that  would  break  the  long  dead-level  of  dullness  ?  And 
how  often  have  we  gone,  with  a  laugh  ready  cut-and- 
dried,  to  reward  the  one  dance  tacked  on  to  a  patter-song, 
that  gave  vitality  to  the  weakest  of  burlesques  ?  Go  to  ! 
Faith,  hope,  and  charity  shall  flourish,  for  many  a  day  to 
come,  no  less  benignly  on  the  hither  than  on  the  farther 
side  of  the  narrow  seas — faith  in  our  playwrights,  hope 
in  their  prolific  talent,  charity  to  their  shortcomings. 

The  sort  of  thing  was  quite  new  to  Mrs.  Ramsay,  and 
amused  her  intensely ;  indeed,  in  the  opening  scenes  there 
was  nothing  that  need  have  called  up  "  the  blush  on  the 
cheek  of  a  young  person,"  unless  the  equivocal  jokes  of 
the  libretto  had  been  carefully  studied  beforehand.  It 
was  a  crowded  house ;  but  one  double  baignoire,  exactly 
opposite  the  Ramsays'  box,  remained  empty  till  the 
middle  of  the  first  entr'acte.  Then,  with  some  bustle 
and  flourish — as  if  willing  to  announce  their  presence  to 
all  whom  it  might  concern — two  women  occupied  it. 

In  the  appearance  of  one  of  these  there  was'  nothing 
remarkable.  Her  face  in  the  very  first  freshness  of 
youth  might  possibly  have  been  tempting;  but  now,  in 
spite  of  cosmetics  and  carefully-disheveled  false  hair,  it 
was  simply  .ignoble.  There  was  a  cowed,  servile  look 
about  this  woman.  The  flourish  of  her  entry  was  palpa- 
bly rather  in  imitation  of  her  companion  than  an  act  of 
self-assertion  ;  and  she  hesitated  about  seating  herself  in 
front,  till  an  imperious  sign  from  the  other  bade  her  do  so. 

In  this  evil  trade,  as  in  others,  there  are  bankrupts. 
When  Lolotte  Lalange's  scanty  stock  of  beauty  failed,  she 
had  not  wit  enough  to  be  either  dangerous  or  attractive  : 
she  had  just  sense  enough  to  know  this;  and  to  know 
furthermore  that,  if  she  would  find  food  and  shelter  and 
clothing  thenceforth,  she  must  cease  to  traffic  on  her  own 
account,  and  take  wajes — ever  so  nominal.  Being  of  a 

11 


122  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

torpid,  pliable  nature,  by  no  means  sensitive  of  affront, 
and  always  open  to  a  peace-offering  in  any  shape  whatso- 
ever, she  had  thriven  thus  far  tolerably  well  on  the  bread 
of  dependence.  In  that  same  bread — especially,  I  fear, 
if  it  be  dispensed  by  female  hands — there  must  always  be 
a  bitter  leaven.  Those  who  are  bound  to  truckle  to  the 
caprice  of  crabbed  old  maids  or  purse-proud  widows  do 
not  sleep  upon  roses;  but— setting  ignominy  altogether 
aside — the  unluckiest  of  "companions"  may  well  feel 
thankful  to  the  Fates  that  have  spared  her  the  endurance 
of  a  harlot's  tyranny. 

The  other  woman  was  a  striking  contrast,  and  would 
have  been  remarkable  in  any  place  or  company  ;  though, 
after  looking  at  her  once  and  again,  you  might  have  been 
puzzled  to  decide  where  the  secret  of  her  famous  fascina- 
tion lay. 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  character  certainly  in  her 
face,  with  its  low,  broad  brow,  which  the  strong  crisp  curls 
half  covered  without  shading — in  the  great,  hard  eyes, 
that  seemed  as  if  they  never  would  blench  or  soften — in 
the  firm,  well-chiseled  nose,  with  nostrils  always  dilated 
as  if  they  scented  prey — in  the  full,  crimson  lips,  curling 
outward,  so  that  the  level,  gleaming  teeth  were  never 
quite  hidden — and  in  the  square,  cruel  jaw  scarcely  taper- 
ing toward  the  chin.  But  it  was  essentially  an  unlovely 
face — one  that  wearied  the  eyes  that  dwelt  on  it,  like  a 
garish  picture.  If  they  had  been  asked  to  name  its  anti- 
type in  the  animal  creation,  nine  men  out  of  ten  would 
have  pitched  upon  the  tigress.  She  was  forte  fern  UK-  in 
every  sense  of  the  word.  There  was  physical  power  in 
every  line  of  the  straight  throat,  the  round  arms,  and 
ample  bust — white  and  firm  and  cold  as  Carrara  marble ; 
but  a  wasp-like  waist  only  just  saved  her  figure  from 
coarseness. 

Such  as  she  was,  Delphine  Marechal  had  wrought 
da  in  a ->-e  enough  with  her  enchantments  to  become  a  l>y- 
word  in  a  land  where  such  sorceries  are  rife. 

The  world  first  heard  of  her  as  the  wife  of  a  cap- 
tain of  Spahis  in  the  army  of  Algiers.  Of  her  birth 
and  parentage,  and  of  the  manner  of  her  wooing,  no- 
thing-certain was  known;  but  that  Eugene  Uoisragou. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  123 

on  his  return  from  furlough,  brought  back  a  lawfully- 
wedded  wife,  there  was  no  reason  to  doubt.  Before  the 
second  year  of  their  marriage  was  half  spent,  there  were 
many  scandals  afloat  concerning  her.  It  was  whispered 
that  long  good  service,  and  hitherto  stainless  repute,  did 
not  save  a  certain  general  of  brigade  from  sharp  rebuke 
in  high  quarters,  where  such  trifles  as  a  liaison  are  sel- 
dom noticed.  Eugene  Boisragon,  after  a  few  outbreaks 
of  jealous  fury  that  his  wife  laughed  utterly  to  scorn,  had 
taken  to  desperate  drinking,  and  was  seldom  seen  sober 
off  parade.  Men  all  said  that  something  worse  than  ab- 
sinthe was  working  in  his  brain ;  and  that  he  was  off  his 
head  long  before  the  last  frenzy-fit  possessed  him,  when 
he  rode  down  alone,  yelling  like  a  maniac  as  he  was,  on 
the  thirsty  Kabyle  yataghans.  His  widow  went  through 
no  farce  of  mourning,  but  "  made  her  packet"  with  the 
briefest  possible  delay,  and  betook  herself  to  Paris — not 
without  male  escort.  From  that  day  forth,  she  threw 
off  the  thinnest  disguise  of  respectability,  and  went  on  her 
wicked  way  rejoicing. 

Whether  it  was  some  faint  scruple  of  remorse,  or  only 
a  wild  whim,  that  prompted  her  to  drop  the  "  Boisragon" 
and  fall  back  on  her  maiden  name — Heaven  save  the  mark ! 
— none  could  guess ;  but  on  any  note  or  quittance  she 
signed  herself  Del phine  Marechal.  She  was  much  better 
known,  though,  as  "  La  Topaze."  Looking  at  her  yellow 
lustrous  hair  and  tawny  gleaming  eyes,  you  were  struck 
at  once  with  the  aptness  of  the  sobriquet.  She  was  no 
hypocrite,  and  disdained  the  common  stratagems  of  her 
trade.  She  never  affected  softness  or  sympathy,  and  con- 
quered without  troubling  herself  to  be  winning.  When 
her  phantasy — and  phantasies  she  had  not  seldom — was 
past,  or  when  the  purse  that  supplied  her  reckless  ca- 
price was  drained,  she  dismissed  her  lover  just  as  she  dis- 
missed her  lackey ;  and  it  would  have  been  as  vain  for 
one  as  for  the  other  to  look  for  charity  or  compassion  at 
her  hands  in  after-time.  Threats  or  complaints  or  en- 
treaties were  all  met  with  the  same  hard,  ringing  laugh  ; 
and  none,  so  far,  had  fared  better  than  his. fellows — from 
Achille,  Prince  de  Senneterre,  who  for  her  s=akr  left  a 
fair  young  bride  to  pine  before  the  orange-flowers  had 


124  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

time  to  wither,  down  to  Leon  Gondrecourt,  the  struggling 
sculptor,  with  a  face  like  an 'old  Greek  statue,  who  left 
her  presence  for  the  last  time  with  scarcely  sous  enough 
in  his  pocket  to  buy  the  charcoal  that  stifled  him.  She 
was  not  particularly  clever,  and  passably  ill  educated  ; 
but  was  endowed  with  a  rude  mother-wit,  and  a  certain 
readiness  of  repartee.  This,  added  to  ,the  known  vio- 
lence of  her  temper  and  utter  unscrupulousness  in  re- 
venge, made  her  much  dreaded  among  her  sisterhood  ;' 
so  that  in  most  companies  she  took  and  kept  the  lead — 
queening  it  like  a  thorough  usurper. 

Rather  royal,  in  her  own  fashion,  La  Topaze  looked  to- 
night, in  a  dress  that  few  of  her  complexion  would  have 
dared  to  wear — a  superb  maize  moire,  trimmed  with  price- 
less lace — with  emeralds  flashing  in  her  tawny  hair,  and 
round  the  carved  column  of  her  neck,  and  all  over  her 
ample  white  breast.  The  contrast  of  color,  that  would 
have  shocked  any  civilized  taste,  only  seemed  to  enhance 
her  quaint,  barbaric  splendor.  Any  one  fond  of  such 
parallels  would  surely  have  been  reminded  then  of  the 
famous  Czarina  whose  loves  and  wars,  more  than  a  cen- 
tury ago,  kept  all  Europe  on  the  alert. 

As  she  entered,  there  was  a  stir  through  the  parterre, 
and  a  murmur  that  might  have  been  mistaken  for  sub- 
dued applause;  and,  before  she  had  been  seated  three 
minutes,  a  hundred  glasses  leveled  at  her  box  answered 
the  challenge  of  her  audacious  eyes.  To  nine-tenths  of 
the  men  present  hers  was  a  familiar  face.  To  provincials, 
who  saw  her  for  the  first  time,  their  neighbors  pointed 
out  the  celebrity  with  the  sort  of  pride  that  a  Javanese 
might  feel  in  the  exhibition  of  a  flourishing  upas-tree. 

On  this  personage  Mrs.  Ramsay  gazed  with  an  eager- 
ness of 'which  she  was  more  than  half  ashamed.  She 
was  no  country-bred  girl  looking  for  the  first  time  on  the 
world's  wicked  ways.  She  had  seen  Pelagia  flaunting 
in  different  guises  in  divers  places,  ere  now,  without 
shrinking  aside  in  holy  horror  at  the  sight,  or  feeling  any 
special  interest  therein;  but  such  a  specimen  of  the  sis- 
terhood as  this  she  had  never  looked  upon,  and  she  \\  us 
attracted  by  it  as  she  would  have  been  attracted  by  any 
other  animal  curiosity. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  125 

While  Mark,  laughing  outright  at  her  eagerness,  was 
answering  her  questions  with  a  brief  sketch  of  the  ante- 
cedents of  La  Topaze,  the  door  of  the  baignoire  opposite 
opened  again,  and  two  men  came  in.  One,  a  pale,  boy- 
ish-looking Frenchman,  came  to  the  front  at  once,  and 
evidently  began  some  explanation  or  excuse,  to  which  La 
Topaze  gave  no  sort  of  heed — dashing  it  aside  as  it  were 
with  an  insolent  wave  of  her  fan;  while  she  glanced  over 
her  shoulder,  as  if  waiting  to  be  addressed  by  the  other 
cavalier,  who,  after  he  had  closed  the  door,  remained 
leaning  against  the  wall,  in  the  shadow.  He  came  for- 
ward at  last,  and  proceeded  to  take  stock  of  the  house 
through  his  glasses,  in  a  lazy,  leisurely  way,  before  he 
troubled  himself  to  reply  to  a  remark  from  La  Topaze, 
which  was  evidently  either  an  angry  question  or  a  sharp 
reproach. 

A  man  of  proper  presence,  decidedly,  with  a  tall,  mar- 
tial figure,  and  a  face  that  must  have  been  strikingly 
handsome  once,  and  had  not  ceased  to  be  picturesque 
since  it  grew  bard  and  haggard  and  marred  by  a  kind  of 
lowering  that  told  of  evil  temper  not  often  controlled.  It 
was  a  face,  though,  that  few  women  would  easily  forget 
when  they  had  seen  it  once.  That  Mrs.  Ramsay  had 
not  forgotten  it,  was  abundantly  clear ;  for,  as  she  caught 
sight  of  the  new-comer,  she  started,  and  drew  back  hur- 
riedly, saying,  in  a  whisper, — so  low  that  her  husband 
hardly  caught  the  words, — 

"  Good  heavens!     It  is  Yereker  Taue." 


11* 


126  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

IN  the  storehouse  of  almost  every  woman's  memory — 
whether  it  be  bare  and  poverty-stricken,  or  crammed  to 
the  threshold  with  treasures  varied  and  manifold — there 
is  kept  a  special  corner  for  her  "  old  loves."  I  do  not 
speak,  now  of  those  who,  having  been  interwoven  to  a 
greater  or  less  extent  in  a  woman's  life-skein,  have  col- 
ored it  with  deep  joy  or  deep  bitterness — of  those  whose 
names  never  recur  without  a  reminder,  regretful  or  re- 
proachful, of 

How  close  to  the  stars  we  seemed 
That  night  on  the  sands  by  the  sea. 

I  speak  of  those  who  in  the  old  time  could  scarcely 
be  distinguished  from  the  rank  and  file  of  her  friends  and 
acquaintances;  who  never  caused  her  pulse  to  flutter  un- 
easily, or  her  cheek  to  flush  unbecomingly;  but  who, 
nevertheless,  proffered  to  her  once,  without  stint  or  limit, 
the  richest  gift  that  was  in  their  power  to  bestow,  albeit 
it  found  no  favor  in  her  eyes — I  mean,  the  wooers  that 
wooed  in  vain. 

If  it  be  a  weakness  to  wrap  up  these  memories  rather 
tenderly,  it  is  one  to  which  women  of  every  shade  of 
character  are  prone.  It  is  just  as  likely — rather  more 
likely,  indeed — to  be  found  in  the  gravest  prude  as  in  the 
most  frivolous  coquette ;  nor  does  the  state  of  their  do- 
mestic relations  seem  to  have  much  to  do  with  it. 

The  historic  Helen  was  probably  not  a  much  more  con- 
scientious personage  than  Schneider  represents  her.  Yet 
her  heart  may  have  melted  a  little  when,  from  the  tower 
over  the  Scsean  gate,  she  looked  down  on  the  Achaean 
array  and  remembered  that  each  and  every  one  of  the 
chiefest  there  was  expiating,  by  exile  from  home  and  peril 
of  limb  and  life,  the  madness  of  having  once  aspired  to 
her  hand. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  127 

For  an  opposite  example,  take  Lady  Gatacre.  That 
model  matron  for  years  has  ruled  every  household  in  her 
parish  with  an  iron  rod — a  merciless  allopath,  both  in  re- 
ligion and  medicine  ;  forcing  her  doctrine,  her  physic,  and 
her  charity  down  the  throats  of  the  poor,  whose  cottages 
she  carries  at  the  point  of  the  parasol.  She  regards  all 
works  of  fiction  as  more  or  less  emanating  from  the  father 
of  lies,  and  romance  in  real  life  as  a  folly  almost  within 
the  pale  of  sin.  An  upright  woman, — sHl  en  fut, — she 
dresses  the  character  to  perfection,  and  towers  at  her 
board-head  darkling  and  stately,  not  to  be  lighted  up  by 
sconce,  lamp,  or  luster.  But,  on  certain  evenings,  you 
may  see  gleams  of  scarlet  breaking  the  sable  morrotony 
of  her  attire  ;  and  you  recognize,  with  a  certain  astonish- 
ment, that  the  dame  may  have  been  admired  once  by  such 
as  look  favorably  on  somber,  severe  beauty.  On  such 
occasions  there  sits  always  on  her  right  hand  the  head  of 
a  certain  Chapter  hard  by.  The  dean  is  a  rabid  Protest- 
ant, prone  to  take  up  his  parable,  in  season  and  out  of 
season,  against  the  abominations  of  the  Seven  Hills;  but 
my  lady  remembers  what  was  his  favorite  color  in  the  old, 
old  times — the  times  when  a  patient,  hard-working  curate 
asked  a  proud,  penniless  girl  to  share  his  fortunes,  and 
took  meekly,  if  not  contentedly,  "Nay"  for  an  answer. 
Good  Sir  John  stands  in  far  too  great  awe  of  his  spouse 
to  banter  her  on  this  or  any  other  subject ;  but  you  may 
see  by  the  twinkle  in  his  merry,  moist  eye  how  thor- 
oughly he  appreciates  her  rare  concessions  to  the  vanities 
of  this  wicked  world,  and  rejoices  over  these  vulnerable 
points  in  the  tough  Amazonian  harness. 

The  last  time  that  Vereker  Vane  stood  face  to  face 
with  Blanche  Ramsay,  he  had  urged  his  suit  for  her  hand 
as  eloquently  and  earnestly  as  it  was  in  his  nature  to 
speak ;  and  had  gone  out  of  her  presence  in  bitter  anger. 
If  she  had  ever  regretted  her  answer  then — and  I  believe 
she  never  had  done  so — she  surely  would  have  known 
no  such  misgivings  now,  in  the  flush  of  her  own  fresh 
happiness,  and  meeting  him — thus.  Nevertheless,  the 
very  proof  before  her  eyes  of  how  far  he  had  gone  astray, 
made  her  remember  that  she  might  have  moulded  his  life 
otherwise  had  she  so  willed  it ;  and  a  kind  of  self-reproach 


128  BREAKING   A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

mingled  with  the  natural  pity  of  a  woman  who,  having 
parted  from  an  old  friend  in  good  estate,  finds  him  again, 
brought  very  low. 

It  may  be  that  something  of  this  showed  itself  in  her 
voice  and  manner ;  for  Mark's  smile  was  very  meaning, 
as  he  answered  her  exclamation  recorded  above. 

"  Vereker  Vane,  without  doubt.  So  he  was  another 
of  your  victims,  Blanche  ?  Why,  you  are  nearly  as  bad 
as  Miladi,  in  Les  Mousquetaires :  the  traces  of  poison  tell 
us  elle  a  passe  par  la. " 

His  tone  did  not  quite  please  her;  though  why -she 
misliked  it  she  could  hardly  have  told.  They  had  mu- 
tually agreed  to  pass  lightly  over  the  past,  and  to  let  by- 
gones be  by-gones.  Nothing,  in  theory,  could  be  more 
convenient  and  comfortable ;  but  she  would  have  pre- 
ferred a  little  more  susceptibility — even  a  little  captious- 
ness — to  that  easy  indifference. 

The  green-eyed  monster  is  troublesome  to  deal  with 
always,  and  a  perfect  pest  sometimes ;  yet  there  be  beasts 
abroad  noisomer,  or  at  all  events  more  difficult  to  tame, 
than  he.  Mesdames,  are  you  sure  you  would  approve 
of  his  utter  extinction  ?  Would  it  not  be  a  pity  if  there 
were  use  no  longer  for  all  the  sweet  sops  and  potent 
charms  that  are  now  employed  to  lull  him  to  sleep  ?  The 
zest  and  subtle  attraction  of  danger  you  know  just  as 
well  as  the  boldest  matamore  of  us  all.  The  rambles  of 
those  who  walk  abrofed  after  their  own  sweet  will — un- 
checked and  unwatched — are  dull  as  an  enforced  "  con- 
stitutional," compared  with  the  stealthy,  albeit  innocent, 
sallies  of  those  whose  footfalls  are  planted  within  earshot 
of  a  dozing  dragon. 

It  is  of  masculine  jealousy  only  I  have  been  speaking. 
Feminine  jealousy  is,  as  we  all  know,  not  a  ravenous  wild 
beast,  but  a  virgin,  severe  if  serene, — Justice,  in  fact, 
under  another  garb, — who  never  smites  unreasonably, 
unrighteously,  or  on  insufficient  grounds. 

So,  as  was  aforesaid,  Blanche  felt  ever  so  slightly  dis- 
contented, and  answered,  rather  more  coldly  than  her 
wont, — 

"Not  a  victim,  in  the  least;  but  I  saw  a  good  deal  of 
him  at  one  time;  and  I  liked  him  very  much  in  his  way ; 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  129 

and  ho  liked  me  well  enough  to  ask  me  to  marry  him, 
and  too  well  to  keep  friends  with  me  after  I  said  '  No.' 
There's  the  whole  story.  It  wouldn't  make  a  chapter  in 
the  meekest  romance  that  ever  was  written." 

He  shook  his  head,  always  with  the  same  smile  on  his 
lip. 

"The  poison  works  all  the  same  ;  but  it  affects  different 
constitutions  differently,  of  course.  What  drives  one  man 
to  drink  drives  another  to  the  demi-monde.  Whether  of 
the  two  is  worse,  the  immortal  gods  alone  can  tell. 
Either  remedy  is  worse  than  the  disease,  I  should  fancy. 
Vane's  face  has  awfully  changed,  even  since  I  saw  him 
last;  and  that's  not  long  ago." 

Mrs.  Ramsay  shrugged  her  shoulders  impatiently. 

"  It's  not  a  pleasant  or  improving  spectacle.  I'd  rather 
look  at  the  stage,  I  think;  though  I'm  not  inclined  to 
rave  about  Herodias.'" 

Just  then  the  second  act  began.  Vane  had  recognized, 
even  more  quickly  than  Blanche  had  done,  who  sat  over 
against  him.  He  scarcely  checked  the  sweep  of  his  opera- 
glass,  and  his  left  hand,  that  held  it,  remained  perfectly 
steady  ;  but  his  right,  resting  on  the  back  of  La  Topaze's 
chair,  grasped  it  so  hard  and  nervously  that  the  chair 
slightly  rocked.  He  had  become  almost  domesticated — 
if  the  term  could  be  applied  to  such  a  life  as  his — in  Paris, 
of  late,  and  took  little  heed  of  matters  on  the  other  side 
of  the  Channel.  Nevertheless,  he  had  heard  of  Mrs.  El- 
lerslie's  engagement  to  Ramsay  soon  after  it  was  made 
public  in  England.  He  took  the  news  with  an  outward 
unconcern  that  rather  chagrined  the  purveyor  thereof — 
a  worthy  gossip,  who  considered  agreeable  intelligence 
not  worth  the  trouble  of  carrying.  He  was  an  ancient 
comrade  of  Vane's,  and  well  acquainted  with  this  episode 
in  the  other's  life ;  furthermore,  he  had  a  grudge  of  long 
standing  against  him,  and  rather  reckoned  on  the  effect 
of  his  little  coup.  The  colonel  only  laughed  boisterously, 
and  swore  with  a  great  oath  that  a  better  match  was 
never  made  up  down  below,  and  that  the  devil  himself 
could  not  tell  which  had  the  best  of  the  bargain. 

He  had  been  drinking  deeply  already,  or  he  .would 
have  scarcely  spoken  lightly,  much  less  coarsely,  of 


130  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

Blanche  Ellerslie;  but  he  drank  deeper  yet  before  the 
"  little  supper"  was  done,  and  contrived  to  make  himself 
intensely  disagreeable  to  all  who  assisted  thereat — the 
news-bearer  above  mentioned  being-  especially  set  upon 
and  overborne.  The  thought  of  the  engagement,  when- 
ever it  recurred  since,  had  always  chafed  him;  but,  as  he 
had  not  read  the  announcement  of  the  marriage,  he  never 
realized  till  this  moment  that  the  prize  he  had  coveted 
was  actually  anothe'r  man's  chattel. 

With  men  of  Vereker  Vane's  temper,  these  "  realiza- 
tions" are  no  jest.  Not  being  endowed  with  a  very  vivid 
power  of  fancy,  they  are  less  tormented  than  their  fellows 
by  the  spectral  foreshadowing  of  grief  or  pain  ;  but,  when 
set  face  to  face  with  the  substance  of  these,  they  suffer 
more  keenly.  It  is  no  figure  of  speech  to  say  that  for 
the  moment  Vane  was  fairly  blinded  with  passion  :  though 
he  swept  his  glass  mechanically  backward  and  forward 
along  the  crowded  boxes,  they  were  all  blanks  to  him, 
save  one  in  which  those  two  faces  were  framed.  Yet  it 
was  a  vague,  purposeless  rage,  leveled  rather  at  fate 
and  the  force  of  circumstances  that  had  balked  him,  than 
against  a  flesh-and-blood  enemy.  If  some  one  had  suc- 
ceeded where  he  had  failed,  as  well  this  one  as  any  other. 
He  bore  Mark  no  greater  grudge  than  a  loser  does'  the 
winner,  where  the  stakes  are  ruinous  and  the  play  per- 
fectly fair. 

So,  in  just  the  frame  of  mind  to  relish  the  antics  of 
Herodias — they  had  made  him  yawn  the  third  time  he 
witnessed  them,  aud  this  was  about  the  fortieth — Colonel 
Vane  sat  down  far  back  in  the  baignoire,  whence  he 
thought  he  might  watch  his  opposite  neighbors  unob- 
served; for  a  certain  savor  of  good  manners,  despite  of 
evil  communications,  still  clung  to  the  sometime  Chief  of 
the  "  Princess's  Own."  The  avowed  protector  of  the  most 
famous  courtesan  in  Paris,  he  was  inconsistent  enough  to 
have  scruples  about  "staring." 

La  Topaze  was  in  no  placable  humor  that  night.  The 
highest-born  dame  of  the  Faubourg  was  not  more  arro- 
gant or  exacting  than  she.  She  had  got  a  grievance  cut 
and  drjed  :  her  cavalier  had  presumed  to  dine  without  her, 
en  ville — an  outrecuidance  only  to  be  atoned  for  in  the 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  131 

usual  course  of  things  by  much  contrition,  rich  bribes,  or 
unlimited  indulgence  of  her  next  whim.  But  the  offender 
did  not  seem  in  haste  to  make  his  peace,  or  even  to  apolo- 
gize for  being  late ;  but  had  handed  over  that  trouble  to 
.-mooth-tougued  Adolphe,  —  a  conscientious  parasite,  al- 
ways ready  to  take  any  troublesome  thing,  or  person,  off 
his  friends'  hands — for  a  consideration.  To  be  sure,  she 
had  learned  already  not  to  look  for  any  abject  submission 
from  Yereker  Vane,  and  had  learned,  too,  that  it  was 
scarcely  safe  to  provoke  him  beyond  a  certain  point.  His 
fierce,  overbearing  temper  had  a  kind  of  attraction  for 
her.  She  was  sick,  even  unto  death,  of  the  mincing, ways, 
petty  fractiousness,  and  languid  love-making  of  les  Craves, 
and  liked  her  bear's  grovvlings  and  roughnesses  a  thou- 
sand times  better  than  their  monkey-tricks.  Neverthe- 
less, she  had  no  notion  of  letting  neglect  pass  unpunished; 
and  determined,  if  she  could  not  make  Vane  contrite,  she 
would  at  least  make  him  uncomfortable. 

Facing  round  with  this  intent,  she  marked  in  what 
direction  his  glasses  were  leveled.  Indeed,  he  did  not 
disturb  himself,  or  seem  to  notice  that  she  had  turned 
toward  him,  till  she  spoke.  The  woman's  instinct,  always 
on  the  watch  for  rivalry,  added  to  the  cunning  of  her 
craft,  set  La  Topaze  on  the  scent  at  once. 

"  My  faith,  Bruno"  (for  some  time  past  the  cocottes  had 
called  him  by  no  other  name),  "thou  art  charming  this 
night !  Since  when  hast  thou  the  wine  taciturn  ?  I  marvel 
why  thou  earnest  here — Nenni;  I  marvel  not.  It  was, 
apparently,  to  devour  the  little  pale  woman  yonder.  The 
niorsel  does  not  seem  to  me  dainty ;  but  perhaps  thou 
hast  found  it  to  thy  taste  ere  now.  Hein  ?  Art  thou 
touched  ?  Answer,  at  least,  without  blushing." 

Blushing!  It  is  the  fashion  nowadays  to  christen 
ugly  things  prettily ;  but  he  must  have  been  a  euphe- 
mist  indeed  who  would  have  given  so  tender  a  name  to 
the  dark  flush  on  Vane's  cheek.  In  truth,  the  aggression 
was  singularly  inopportune.  Since  that  first  access  of 
jealous  rage,  his  thoughts  had  turned  into  a  milder  chan- 
nel. The  sight  of  the  quiet  pale  face  opposite  rather 
soothed  than  irritated  him  :  he  was  trying  to  recall  the 
cadences  of  some  low,  caressing  tones,  just  as  one  tries  io 


132  BREAKING  A    BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

piece  together  the  fragments  of  a  half-forgotten  tune 
Here  his  reverie  was  broken. 

Now,  the  most  besotted  admirers  of  La  Topaze  were 
fain  to  confess  that  her  voice  was  not  one  of  her  chiefest 
attractions.  It  was  a  good  serviceable  organ ;  clear, 
though  not  flexile,  and  proof,  so  far,  against  the  effects 
of  late  hours  and  hard  living;  but  its  steely  ring — which 
gave  such  effect  to  sarcasm  or  retort — the  toughest  nerves 
found,  after  awhile,  rather  fatiguing.  How  that  voice 
grated  on  Vane  just  then,  would  be  impossible  to  describe. 

He  frowned  heavily;  and,  as  he  glauced  down  on  her, 
you  might  have  seen  the  blood  mount  to  his  eyes. 

"Leave  me  in  peace,  I  counsel  thee;  and  leave  yonder 
lady  in  peace  also.  Are  there  not  cocottes  enough  here  for 
thee  to  dissect,  that  thou  must  fall  foul  of  honest  women  ?" 

Her  broad  nostrils  dilated ;  and  she  showed  her  white 
teeth — not  smiling. 

"Honest  women! — Fine  guarantee,  my  faith,  for  a 
woman's  honesty,  that  she  should  have  been  an  ancient 
acquaintance  of  M.  le  Colonel  Vane.  Our  tongues  are 
free  to  speak  of  the  greatest  dames  in  France :  I  would 
know  why  they  should  spare  une petite  chipie  d'Anglaise. " 

The  phrase  is  not  easily  translatable ;  nor  could  any 
verbal  insolence  be  half  so  expressive  as  the  gesture  of 
her  lithe  fingers. 

Dare-devil  as  she  was,  a  minute  later  she  wished  her 
words  unsaid,  as  Vane  rose  up,  with  such  a  darkness  on 
his  countenance  as  she  had  never  seen  there.  She  had 
reason  to  know  that  time  and  place  could  put  no  check 
on  his  passion  when  it  was  fairly  roused,  and  shrank 
within  herself  in  mere  physical  fear.  If  any  mad  tempta- 
tion to  violence  assailed  him,  he  controlled  himself  after 
one  glance  at  the  box  opposite,  and,  taking  down  his 
overcoat,  went  out  without  uttering  a  word,  flinging  off 
the  hand  that  La  Topaze  would  have  laid  on  his  arm  as 
if  it  brought  contagion. 

Vereker  Vane's  worst  enemy  might  have  pitied  him  a 
little,  reading  his  thoughts  as  he  walked  away  through 
the  empty  corridor  out  into  the  air.  He  had  begun  to 
hate  his  paramour  with  the  sudden  intense  loathing  that, 
unlike  most  rapid  emotions,  does  not  lightly  pass  away. 


BLANCHE   ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING  1?,3 

He  ha  ,ed  aad  despised  himself  yet  more  ;  and  desiring 
earnestly,  for  the  moment  at  least,  to  escape,  saw  no  way 
out  of  the  shameful  maze  in  which  he  had  wandered  for 
some  time  past.  He  did  not  walk  straight  away,  but, 
though  a  fine  rain  was  falling,  paced  backward  and  for- 
ward in  front  of  the  theater,  so  persistently  as  to  excite 
the  suspicions  of  certain  police-agents  hovering  about. 
They  concluded,  from  his  manner,  that  he  must  have  a 
worse  object  than  a  mere  assignation  in  lingering  there. 

Standing  back  in  the  shadow,  he  heard,  after  awhile, 
the  coupe  of  Madame  Mare'chal  summoned,  and  watched 
her  come  forth,  followed  by  her  frightened  "sheep-dog" — 
her  very  robes  rustling  with  passion — and  fling  herself 
into  the  carriage  with  an  energy  that  set  the  springs 
a-quivering.  He  waited  till  they  had  driven  off;  and 
began  to  pace  to  and  fro  again,  retreating  into  the  dark 
nook  when  each  fresh  carriage  was  called  up.  Ere  long 
a  continuous  stream  succeeded  the  straggling  departures  ; 
then  Colonel  Yane  thrust  his  way  forward  till  he  stood 
just  without  the  principal  doorway,  so  that  he  was  within 
arm's-lcngth  of  all  that  passed  out. 

It  was  an  odd  anomaly — one  that  might  have  furnished 
a  text  to  a  homily-writer,  or  a  sketch  to  a  humorist. 
From  youth  upward  this  man  had  been  wont  to  work  out 
his  purpose  by  mere  strength  of  will  or  hand,  cutting  all 
manner  of  knots  without  attempting  to  unravel  them  ; 
from  sentiment,  properly  so  called,  Witikind  the  Waster 
was  not  more  exempt ;  in  his  breast,  specially  after  the 
life  he  had  led  of  late,  it  was  no  more  likely  that  pathos 
or  tenderness  should  be  found  than  that  lilies  should 
bloom  on  sea-sand,  Yet  his  heart  fluttered  like  a  bashful 
boy's  as  he  stood  there,  waiting  to  see  whether,  as  she 
passed  out,  Blanche  Ramsay  would  appear  conscious  of 
his  presence  or  not.  He  no  more  dreamed  of  addressing 
her  first,  than  of  offering  her  any  other  insult.  More  oddly 
still, — considering  of  what  manner  of  man  we  are  speak- 
ing,— passion  had  little  or  nothing  to  do  with  this  longing 
to  hear  her  voice  and  touch  her  hand  again.  Rather,  it 
was  such  a  hankering  after  the  better  and  pleasanter  days 
now  past  and  gone,  as  might  beset  any  outcast  reminded 
of  these  things  suddenly  by  the  sight  of  an  ancient  friend. 

12 


134  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;     OR, 

Before  very  long  the  Ramsays  came  out.  Blanche 
chanced  to  be  on  the  side  nearest  the  pillar  against 
which  Vane  was  leaning:  as  he  was  just  outside  the 
doorway,  she  did  not  see  him  till  her  dress  brushed  his 
foot.  She  started  and  shrank  back  a  little,  clinging 
closer  to  her  husband's  arm.  It  was  no  wonder.  Vane's 
face  was  not  pleasant  to  look  upon  just  then  ;  and  hair 
and  beard  dank  with  rain  made  it  more  haggard  and 
wild.  He  marked  the  effect  he  produced,  and  was  not  a 
whit  angry ;  only  it  was  something  like  a  groan  that  he 
gulped  down  as  he  stepped  back  a  little  to  let  her  pass, 
slightly  moving  his  hat,  as  if  he  had  made  way  for  an 
utter  stranger.  But,  after  a  second's  hesitation,  Blanche 
held  out  her  hand,  with  rather  a  nervous  laugh. 

"  Is  it  de  rigueur  to  cut  your  old  friends,  Colonel 
Vane,  when  you  are  living  abroad?  You  are  become 
quite  acclimatized,  they  tell  me;  but  I  had  no  idea  you 
were  in  Paris.  I  wonder,  at  least,  that  you  and  Mark 
have  not  met  somewhere." 

It  was  a  falsehood,  of  course — such  a  one  as  certain 
moralists  would  find  it  very  hard  to  condone — -'and  that 
it  was  a  falsehood  the  man  to  whom  it  was  spoken  knew 
perfectly  well.  He  knew  that  she  had  recognized  him 
hours  ago,  and  that  she  had  been  made  aware  long  ere 
this — even  if  she  had  not  guessed  for  herself  at  the  first 
glance — who  and  what  were  his  companions.  But  he 
did  not  thank  her  the  less;  and  let  us  hope  that  this 
white  lie  was  covered,  like  a  multitude  of  other  sins;  for 
assuredly  it  was  conceived  in  charity. 

The  colonel  just  touched  the  little  hand,  with  a  timid 
half-pressure — very  unlike  his  usual  grip 

"  No,  I've  a  pretty  good  memory  for  old  friends,  Mrs. 
Ramsay,  even  when  they  have  new  names;  and  as  for 
cutting,  that  would  come  well  from  me,  wouldn't  it?  I 
seldom  look  at  an  English  paper,  somehow,  except  the 
sporting  ones,  and  I  didn't  know  that  you  were  actually 
married,  much  less  that  you  were  in  Paris,  or  I'd  have 
hunted  you  out  and  sent  the  regular  congratulations,  if  I 
hadn't  brought  them.  You  must  take  them  now  in  the 
rough — both  of  you.  Ramsay  and  I,  at  least,  needn't 
stand  on  ceremony." 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  135 

"  Xof  exactly,"  Mark  answered,  "even  if  pretty 
speech"?,  were  your  forte,  Vereker.  It  is  odd  We  haven't 
met.  jS'iver  mind ;  better  late  than  never.  We're  at  the 
far  is  to  I;  will  you  breakfast  there  to-morrow?" 

Vane  accepted  at  once.  Three  minutes  later  he  stood 
>n  the  pavement  alone,  watching  the  lamps  of  a  certain 
tonne  irleaming  away  through  the  mist  and  rain. 

There  were  high  jinks  in  the  half-world  that  night. 
Aldlle.  fYetillon  had  lately  so  far  honored  M.  Bonasse, 
die  famous  financier,  as  to  accept  from  him  a  modest 
mansion  nard  by  the  Barriere  du  Trone, — the  price  of 
which  would  have  bought  twice  over  a  chateau  and  ap- 
panages in  Touraine, — and  called  her  friends  and  neigh- 
bors together  to  rejoice  over  la  pendaison  de  la  cremail- 
lere.  Over  the  Babel  of  tongues  at  the  supper-table  La 
Topaze's  laugh  rang  out,  and  she  was  unusually  brilliant 
in  her  pitiless  sallies — leveled  impartially  at  friend  and 
foe — and  none  entered  with  keener  zest  into  the  lansque- 
net, that  raged  till  dawn.  But  the  door  never  opened 
without  her  tawny  eyes  were  turning  toward  it—defi- 
antly at  first,  then  wistfully,  hopelessly  at  last — in  search 
of  some  one  who  never  appeared;  and  she  did  not  carry 
it  off  so  successfully  as  to  prevent  every  one  there  present 
being  aware  that  there  had  been  something  more  than 
a  love-quarrel  betwixt  her  and  Bruno. 

"You  did  that  very  well,  Blanche,"  her  husband  re- 
marked, as  they  drove  homeward.  "I  should  have  been 
sorry  if  you  had  cut  Vane  outright.  He  felt  himself  in 
a  false  position  this  evening,  I  do  believe;  and  that's  a 
point  gained,  at  all  events.  He'll  never  be  thoroughly 
respectable ;  but  he's  too  good  still  to  swell  the  returns  of 
killed  and  wounded  that  La  Topaze  publishes  yearly. 
He  certainly  left  her  in  the  lurch  to-night.  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  he  were  to  break  with  the  whole  lot,  if  he  had 
a  little  timely  encouragement.  Shall  we  be  benevolent, 
and  try  what  we  can  do?" 

Blanche  assented  very  readily.  But  as,  lying  awake, 
she  thought  over  these  things,  she  was  haunted  by  mis- 
givings as  to  whether  her  hands  were  strong  enough  to 
deal  with  such 'a  good  work;  and,  more  than  that,  if  a 
blessing  was  likely  to  attend  benevolence  prompted  by 
Mark  Ramsay. 


136  BREAKING   A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

ON  a  certain  forenoon  toward  the  close  of  that  London 
season,  a  party  of  eight  sat  down  to  breakfast,  in  a  pleasant 
bachelor  house  in  Charles  Street,  just  as  the  latest  church- 
bell  ceased  to  chime. 

The  host  was  rather  a  character  in  his  way.  With 
every  disadvantage  of  a  start,  and  retarded  by  more  than 
one  early  failure,  by  dint  of  energy,  patience,  and  calcu- 
lation he  had  contrived,  while  still  in  middle-age,  to  climb 
to  one  of  those  high  places  in  the  mercantile  heaven, 
which  having  attained,  an  adventurer  may  thenceforth  lie 
beside  his  nectar,  smiling  at  the  toil  and  turmoil  below. 
But  Olympian  idlesse  would  have  been  irksome  to  Richard 
Garratt.  He  was  not  a  whit  ashamed  of  his  business, 
and  applied  himself  thereto  at  certain  seasons  with  the 
same  cautious  sagacity  as  heretofore  ;  but  he  treated  com- 
merce as  a  master,  not  as  a  'prentice,  now — taking  his 
pleasure  when  and  where  he  would,  and  taking  it,  too, 
right  royally.  He  was  quite  aware  of  the  weak  points  in 
his  own  breeding,  and  earnestly  desired  to  amend  these. 
From  the  commonplace  weaknesses  of  the  parvenu  he 
was  singularly  free  ;  but  he  affected — and  did  not  scruple 
to  confess  it — the  company  of  men  likely,  directly  or  indi- 
rectly, to  help  him  upward  in  the  social  scale;  and  con- 
trived to  minister  to  their  amusement — their  profit  some- 
times— without  ever  truckling  to  their  caprices  or  submit- 
ting to  contumely,  however  covert  or  polite.  A  natural 
tact  prevented  him  from  presuming  on  good  nature  or 
forcing  on  familiarity. 

The  "  swells,"  as  he  would  call  them,  soon  found  out 
that  Mr.  Garratt  was  ready  to  meet  his  friends  cordially 
on  club-ground  without  insisting  on  identifying  himself 
with  them  in  all  places  and  at  untimely  seasons ;  and 
that  he  would  cast  the  bread  of  hospitality  freely  enough 
on  the  waters,  without  expecting  it  to  return  in  the  shape 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  137 

of  invitation-cards  to  the  houses  of  their  mothers  and  sis- 
ters. So  the  circle  of  his  acquaintance  widened  daily, 
till  it  became  quite  as  large  as  was  convenient.  Men 
rather  plumed  themselves  than  otherwise  on  being  asked 
to  one  of  the  Sunday  breakfasts  in  Charles  Street.  In 
truth,  they  were  very  agreeable  entertainments. 

However  vagrant  in  his  other  habits,  it  must  be  a  strong 
temptation — sport  or  business  out  of  the  question — that 
will  draw  any  thorough-paced  Englishman,  possessing  a 
fixed  abiding-place,  many  yards  from  his  own  hearth-stone 
fasting.  And  in  this  case  there  was  a  very  strong  tempta- 
tion. Richard  Garratt  was  a  born  gourmet,  though  his 
taste  had  only  of  late  years  been  cultivated  as  it  deserved ; 
neither  was  his  chef  altogether  unworthy  of  his  large  hire ; 
and  his  guests,  culled  from  very  different  sets,  amalga- 
mated, as  a  rule,  very  fairly.  On  a  Sunday  forenoon  in 
London,  few  idle  men,  who  are  not  church-goers,  have 
anything  better  to  do  than  to  sit  in  judgment  on  the  savor 
of  delicate  meats  and  wines.  No  one  at  these  entertain- 
ments descended  to  tea — or  to  coffee,  unless  of  the  blackest, 
backed  by  a  chaste. 

On  the  right  of  the  host  sat  Lord  Morecambe,  the  in- 
trepid and  insatiable  traveler,  who  had  thrust  his  ferret- 
nose  into  more  out-of-the-way  corners  of  the  earth  than 
perhaps  any  other  man  living.  Exploring  was  his  pro- 
fession ;  and  he  was  just  home  from  Patagoniaon  a  short 
furlough,  recruiting  for  an  expedition  which  was  to  start 
from  the  southern  shores  of  the  Caspian,  and  end — indefi- 
nitely. A  pale,  puny,  parched  personage  ;  and,  like  many 
others  of  his  build,  a  voracious  feeder.  Indeed,  his  appe- 
tite was  his  chief  encumbrance  on  his  wanderings ;  sup- 
porting all  other  hardships  cheerfully,  he  waxed  desper- 
ately despondent  under  famine. 

Next  to  him  was  Harry  Polwarth — more  at  home,  cer- 
tainly, on  the  boards  than  in  the  barrack-ground  ;  yet  he 
was  no  carpet-soldier  either,  and  none  grudged  him  his 
brevet  step  after  Inkermann.  He  had  been  stage-manager 
to  the  Brigade  for  years,  and  each  winter  made  a  starring- 
tour  through  country-houses  where  amateur  theatricals 
were  carried  out  on  a  grand  scale. 

Right  opposite  to  him  sat  his  subaltern  and  cronv,  and 
12* 


138  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

butt  to  boot-  -Terence  Tiernan,  with  the  same  bloom  on 
his  round,  smooth,  pink  face,  and  the  same  mystified  look 
in  his  innocent  blue  eyes,  as  when  he  first  joined  the  bat- 
talion ;  though  how  he  has  contrived  to  preserve  any  out- 
ward signs  of  innocence  is  wonderful  indeed.  Rather 
prone  to  take  offense,  as  a  rule,  he  stands  any  amount  of 
bullying  from  Polwarth  "like  a  lamb,"  and  in  all  respects 
plays  the  faithful  henchman  to  perfection. 

"I'm  awfully  fond  of  Terry," the  other  once  averred; 
"  I  wouldn't  travel  about  without  bis  photograph  for  any 
consideration.  To  look  at  it  in  the  morning  quite  picks 
one  up  after  a  night  spent  in  indifferent  company.  There 
never  were  so  many  good  qualities  compressed  into  the 
same  space  of  flesh  and  blood,  and — God  never  made  such 
a  fool  I" 

Besides  these,  there  were  Jack  Raymond, — most  cheery 
and  urbane  of  vintners, — who,  having  got  through  one  fair 
fortune  in  the  exercise  of  boundless  hospitality,  is  trying, 
not  unsuccessfully,  to  build  up  another  by  filling  other 
men's  cellars ;  and  Pierce  Llewellyn,  editor  of  the  Scor- 
pion; with  two  others  whom  you  have  met  before, — 
Reginald  Avenel  and  Horace  Kendall. 

If  you  could  assist  invisibly  at  the  assemblage  of  seven 
or  eight  of  the  cleverest  men  you  like  to  name,  brought 
together  for  purely  convivial  purposes,  do  you  think  you 
would  often  listen  to  sustained  talk  worth  taking  down  ? 
I  fear  Nodes  Ambrosianee  are  nearly  as  imaginary  as 
Arabian  Nights;  and,  when  they  do  occur,  "the  crack" 
is  generally  three-handed,  or  four-handed  at  the  outside. 
Richard  Garratt  could  discourse  sensibly  enough  on  many 
subjects — with  a  lead ;  but  he  rarely  took  a  decisive  line 
of  his  own,  much  less  attempted  to  cut  out  the  work  for 
others.  On  the  present  occasion  his  guests  seemed  to 
incline  rather  to  the  consumption  than  to  the  utterance 
of  good  things;  and,  though  Polwarth  was  fonder  of 
chaffing  than  of  eating,  as  a  rule,  breakfast  was  half  over 
before  he  opened  fire  on  his  left-hand  neighbor. 

"  You  don't  like  those  sweet-breads  a  la  Monarque, 
Morecambe,  I  can  see ;  for  you've  only  managed  half  the 
dish.  You  really  should  conquer  your  dislike  to  civilized 
viands :  as  it  is,  you  don't  take  enough  to  support  life 


BLANCHE  'ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  139 

Never  mind :  when  I  come  into  mine  inheritance,  and 
you  come  to  stay  with  me,  I'll  kill  a  fat  buffalo,  and  you 
shall  have  the  hump  all  to  yourself.  I  dare  say  Garratt 
would  have  provided  a  bear-haunch  this  morning  if  you 
hadn't  taken  him  rather  by  surprise." 

"  They  are  both  very  good  things  in  their  way,"  the 
other  said,  seriously;  "but  you  must  be  careful  to  bake 
the  hump  under  a  very  slow  fire ;  and  the  bear  ought  to 
be  killed  early  in  the  spring,  before  he  gets  lean.  After 
all,  I  think  the  paws  are  the  best  part  of  him." 

"  Tell  us  some  more  secrets  of  the  cuisine  sauvage," 
the  other  went  on.  "  What's  the  best  way  of  dressing  a 
guide,  for  instance?  En  chasseur,  I  suppose  ?  Don't  look 
modest  about  it :  you  know  very  well  you  ate  one  when 
you  lost  your  way  in  the  Dolichoschian  Mountains." 

Most  of  the  men  laughed  ;  but  Tiernan  made  rather  a 
wry  face,  as  he  set  his  fork  down  without  touching  some 
aspic  which  he  had  just  taken  on  his  plate. 

"  It's  quite  true,  Terry,"  Polwarth  continued ;  "  and 
they  read  a  short  burial-service  over  the  poor  Iroquois 
before  they  put  him  down  to  roast,  just  like  they  do  over 
sailors  before  they  give  them  to  the  sharks.  It  was  very 
considerate  of  you,  Morecambe ;  I've  always  given  you 
great  credit  for  it.  It  shows  how,  under  most  trying 
circumstances,  a  real  Christian  can  keep  up  appear- 
ances." 

"  It's  very  well  to  joke  about  it  now,"  Morecambe  said, 
frowning  slightly ;  "  but  the  real  thing  isn't  so  comic. 
No; -I  never  was  in  the  strait  of  having  to  draw  lots  for 
a  life;  but  I  don't  know  what  might  have  happened 
once,  if  we  hadn't  lighted,  by  God's  mercy,  on  a  lame 
deer,  that  was  half  dead  with  famine  itself  when  we  got 
up  to  it  in  the  snow.  The  night  before,  the  men  looked 
at  each  other  very  queerly — so  queerly,  that  I  see  their 
eyes  still,  sometimes,  when  I  have  bad  dreams." 

There  was  not  a  particle  of  wounded  vanity  in  the 
speaker's  manner  ;  only  the  gravity  of  a  man  remember- 
ing thankfully  his  escape  from  great  peril.  No  one 
laughed  now;  and  Polwarth,  for  a  moment,  looked  con- 
trite. 

"You're  a  game  old  bird,"  he  said;  "and  we  stay-at- 


140  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

homes  are  not  worthy  to  unloose  the  latchets  of  your  moc- 
casins. Haven't  you  done  enough  in  your  generation  in 
search  of  the  Great  Unknown  ?  I'd  give  something  to 
see  you  settled  once  for  all.  You  wouldn't  be  hard  to 
please  in  a  squaw;  and  More  Court  would  be  a  comfort- 
able wigwam,  if  it  was  made  weather-proof." 

"Well,  there  are  one  or  two  other  places  I  want  to 
see,"  the  other  returned,  placidly,  making  steady  play 
with  some  Reform  cutlets  the  while.  "  Besides,  I'm  too 
poor  to  mount  an  establishment  properly  at  home ;  and, 
though  I  don't  much  care  where  I  sleep,  I  don't  know 
that  I  should  approve  of  roughing  it  under  one's  own 
roof.  I  shouldn't  approve  of  my  wife's  roughing  it,  I'm 
quite  sure  " 

"  Too  poor  ?"  Llewellyn  interrupted,  shrugging  his 
shoulders.  "What's  that  got  to  do  with  it ?  You  may 
take  your  oath  your  coronet  has  been  fresh-gilt  already, 
at  some  time  or  another.  Why  should  you  be  nicer  than 
your  forbears  ?  A  plum  taken  in  season,  how  good  is  it ! 
And  there  are  several  Golden  Drops  just  now,  about  fit 
for  plucking.  What  do  you  think  of  Mary  Welsted — 
goes  about  with  Lady  Mandrake  ?  Jekyl  christened  her 
Maria  Maggiore — not  a  bad  name,  either.  She's  substan- 
tial enough,  in  all  ways,  to  prop  up  a  principality,  much 
less  a  .peerage. " 

"A  cut  above  my  mark,"  Morecambe  said, — "morally, 
financially,  and  physically.  I  don't  pretend  to  know 
much  about  domesticities ;  but  I  fancy  any  husband  must 
sooner  or  later  be  in  a  false  position  who  gives  more 
than  three  stone  weight  away.  I've  no  idea  of  tying 
myself  up  yet,  either  for  pleasure  or  profit,  unless  I  find 
a  stray  Peri  somewhere  between  the  Caspian  and  Cash- 
mere." 

Quite  lately,  by  the  merest  chance,  as  if  he  had  picked 
up  a  purse  in  the  street,  Tieruan  had  discovered  he  had 
rather  a  good  bass  voice  ;  and  since  then  he  had  become 
a  perfect  melomaniac — ready  "quidvis  facile,  aut  pati," 
the  better  to  cultivate  his  organ.  Kendall,  of  coarse, 
could  be  very  useful  in  this  way;  and  this  was  enough  to 
account  for  their  sudden  intimacy. 

When  the  name  of  Miss  Welsted  was  mentioned,  Hor- 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  14\ 

ace  had  looked  up  quickly  from  his  plate;  and  as  the  last 
words  were  spoken,  he  glanced  across  the  table  at  Tier- 
nan,  who  nodded  and  smiled  in  answer. 

"  What  are  you  grinning  at  now,  Terry  ?"  Polwarth 
asked.  "  It's  a  most  extraordinary  thing  that  grave  mat- 
ters can  never  be  discussed  in  your  presence  without  that 
indecent  levity  breaking  out." 

"I  wasn't  grinning,"  the  other  retorted,  rather  rebel- 
liously — he  didn't  approve  of  his  fin  sourire  being  so 
stigmatized — "  I  was  only  thinking  that  perhaps  the  Wel- 
sted  Cup  ain't  quite  such  an  open  race  as  you  imagine. 
How  do  you  know  the  entries  aren't  closed  already  ?  Ask 
Kendall,  there  :  he  can  tell  you  something  about  it,  I 
dare  say." 

An  awkward  pause  ensued  ;  for  no  one  seemed  inclined 
to  put  the  question  into  words,  though  several  asked  it 
plainly  enough  with  their  eyes.  At  last  Polwarth  spoke. 

"  I  suppose  Terry  means  we're  to  congratulate  you, 
Mr.  Kendall,  if  he  means  anything  at  all:  it's  never 
more  than  even  betting.  Rather  sudden,  isn't  it?" 

It  was  a  perpetual  chafe  to  Horace,  that  men  who 
seemed  to  be  hail-fellows  with  all  the  rest  of  the  world 
would  persist  in  addressing  him  formally.  Furthermore, 
there  was  sarcasm,  if  not  incredulity,  in  Polwarth's  tone; 
yet  he  answered,  sweetly  a_nd  smoothly, — 

"  You  won't  make  me  responsible  for  Terry's  indiscre- 
tion, I  hope."  (Polwarth's  by-play  on  the  stage  was  one  of 
the  best  points  of  his  acting  ;  his  start  of  surprise  and 
shudder  at  the  familiarity  were  perfect.)  "  What  I  said 
to  him  was  in  confidence,  to  begin  with,  and  didn't  go 
half  so  far  as  you  infer.  I'm  very  good  friends  with  Miss 
Welsted,  I'm  happy  to  say;  but  I  don't  know  that  I 
should  care  to  be  more.  She's  rather  an  overpowering 
person,  as  Morecambe  says;  perhaps  she'd  be  too  much 
for  my  weak  mind.  Don't  you  think  so,  my  lord  ?" 

The  peer  was  a  cosmopolite  in  the  largest  sense  of  the 
word.  He  had  the  faculty  of  becoming  promptly  hand- 
and-glove  with  any  fellow-creature,  utterly  irrespective 
of  race,  color,  or  degree  ;  but  he  could  assert  himself 
pretty  decisively  on  occasion,  as  others  besides  Kendall 
had  found  out  to  their  cost. 


142  BREAKING   A    BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

"  I  said  nothing  about  Miss  Welsted's  being  overpower- 
ing. I  simply  said  she  was  above  my  mark ;  it  doesn't 
follow  that  she's  above  yours ;  and  as  to  what  your  strength 
of  mind  may  be  equal  to,  I  know  absolutely  nothing.  I 
judge  no  man's  character  on  short  or  slight  acquaint- 
ance." 

The  taunt  went  right  home,  through  the  triple  brass  of 
Kendall's  self-conceit;  but,  instead  of  teaching  him  cau- 
tion, it  made  him  vicious. 

"A  thousand  pardons,"  he  said,  with  bitter  humility, 
"for  asking  your  opinion  about  what  couldn't  interest 
you.  You'll  remember  it  was  not  I  who  mentioned  Miss 
Welsted's  name;  I  simply  answered  a  direct  question.  I 
have  a  perfect  right,  I  presume,  to  disavow  any  present 
intentions  in  that  quarter.  Indeed,  to  form  any  such, 
one  ought  to  be  quite  fancy-free." 

The  fatuous  smile,  and  the  still  more  significant  sigh 
rounding  off  the  sentence,  were  so  intensely  exasperating 
that  more  than  one  of  his  hearers  felt  a  keen  desire  to 
arise  and  smite  the  speaker  on  the  cheek.  Avenel,  who 
sat  next  to  him,  could  not  repress  a  movement  of  impa- 
tient dislike. 

Kendall  did  not  seem  to  notice  the  effect  of  his  words, 
but  went  on  nibbling  delicately  one  by  one  the  grapes 
from  a  bunch  that  he  held  in  his  left  hand,  leaning  his 
elbow  on  the  table.  The  sleeve,  loose  after  the  fashion 
of  that  year,  fell  back  naturally  from  the  wrist,  leaving 
the  armlet  that  you  wot  of  nearly  bare.  It  may  be  that 
Tiernan  desired  to  show  that  his  new  intimate  was  a 
person  of  more  consequence  than  the  rest  of  the  company 
gave  him  credit  for;  or  he  may  have  been  prompted  only 
by  an  ultra-Irish  propensity  to  thrust  in  an  importunate 
oar  just  when  rocks  and  quicksands  were  ahead. 

"  Fancy-free  ?"  he  said,  nodding  his  head  again  still 
more  sagaciously.  "How  can  a  man  be  free  at  all  who 
goes  about  manacled  ?  It's  a  pretty  ornament,  too,  and 
a  pretty  idea.  Let's  have  a  look  at  it  closer." 

With  a  faint  show  of  remonstrance,  hardly  masking 
covert  exultation,  Horace  stretched  out  his  wrist  over  the 
table.  There,  in  bright  relief  on  the  dead  gold,  glittered 
the  word  "Nina" — legible  as  ever  was  recoid  of  female 


BLAXCUE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDIXG.  143 

folly  since  the  days  of  Cadmus.  Not  half,  certainly,  of 
those  present  guessed  at  the  story  linked  with  the  word: 
yet  all,  save  one,  guessed  that  there  was  something  base 
and  boastful  in  the  action,  and  despised  it  accordingly. 
Even  jovial  Mr.  Garratt  looked  on  his  guest  with  disfavor 
and  some  apprehension:  he  smelt  the  storm  a-brewing ; 
and  this  was  the  first  time  that  quiet  digestion  had  not 
waited  on  appetite  at  his  entertainments.  But  Tiernan's 
blundering  head  was  fairly  loose,  and,  utterly  disregard- 
ing the  warning  frown  from  Polwarth,  he  floundered  on 
deeper  into  the  mire. 

••Xina — eh?  Not  a  common  name,  is  it?  I  think  we 
could  put  a  surname  to  it,  if  we  chose.  Perhaps  we 
needn't  go  far  from  N  to  find  the  other  initial.  I  should 
like  to  know  how  you  came  by  it,  though  ?" 

"  Stole  it,  most  probably." 

If  Reginald  Aveuel  had  wrought  no  notable  good  in 
his  generation,  he  assuredly  deserved  all  the  blessings 
that  rest  on  peace-makers.  The  first  article  of  his  creed 
was,  that  to  float  on  placid  waters  was  absolutely  essen- 
tial to  his  personal  comfort ;  and  he  had  shown  consider- 
able tact,  more  than  once,  in  healing  disputes  that  might 
have  rankled  into  quarrels.  The  most  insolent  and  ini- 
quitous of  cabmen  had  never  been  known  to  provoke 
him  to  anything  beyond  banter — serene,  if  severe.  If  a 
maroon  had  exploded  in  the  midst  of  them,  his  friends 
could  scarcely  have  been  more  startled  than  by  such  an 
interjection  proceeding  from  him. 

Kendall's  outstretched  hand  dropped  on  the  cloth 
sharply,  as  he  faced  round  on  the  speaker,  flushing  to  the 
roots  of  his  hair. 

"That's  meant  as  a  joke,  I  suppose,"  he  said,  with 
rather  a  lame  attempt  at  a  laugh.  "  1  confess  I  don't  quite 
see  the  point  of  it ;  and  I'll  ask  you  to  spare  me  those 
jokes  in  future." 

"It's  meant  as  nothing  of  the  sort,"  the  other  retorted; 
"  I  never  was  more  serious  in  my  life.  A  man  who's  ca- 
pable of  parading  such  a  thing  as  that  before  half  a  dozen 
comparative  strangers,  and,  so  to  speak,  thrusts  his  con- 
fidences down  their  throats,  is  perfectly  capable  of  petty 
larceny,  in  my  humble  opinion.  It's  a  mere  question  of 
opportunity." 


144  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

Despite  the  Prover>9al  blood  in  his  veins,  Kendall  was 
too  cunning  to  embroil  himself,  if  he  could  possibly  avoid 
it,  unless  the  chances  were  heavily  in  his  favor ;  but  no 
choice  was  left  him  here.  He  rose  up,  pushing  back  his 
chair  in  great  heat  and  haste. 

"  I  didn't  come  here  to  be  insulted,"  he  cried. 

"  No ;  you  came  here  to  sing,  after  you  had  finished 
your  breakfast,"  Avenel  interrupted,  beginning  to  peel 
a  peach  scientifically ;  "  so  don't  strain  your  voice,  what- 
ever you  do." 

"I — I  tell  you, "Kendall  gasped  out,  fairly  hoarse  witli 
passion,  "I  could  account — nothing  easier — for  how  I 
became  possessed  of  that  armlet,  if  you  had  any  right  to 
ask  for  an  explanation." 

"  But  I  haven't  a  right,  you  see,"  the  other  answered, 
coolly  ;  "and, if  I  had,  I  don't  know  that  I  should  care  to 
press  the  question.  Single-handed  testimony  don't  go  for 
much — under  certain  circumstances." 

Here  the  host  interposed. 

"  Look  here:  we've  had  more  than  enough  of  this.  It's 
an  unlucky  misunderstanding  from  first  to  last.  You'll 
promise  me,  both  of  you — I  know  you  will — that  this 
shall  go  no  further." 

Avenel  arched  his  handsome  brows  in  genuine  surprise. 

"My  dear  Garratt,  are  you  dreaming?  You  talk  like 
Polwarth  when  he  plays  the  heavy  father.  Nothing 
ever  does  go  further  in  these  days.  I  had  very  slightly 
the  honor  of  Mr.  Kendall's  acquaintance  before  ;  and  that 
little  I  choose  henceforth  to  decline.  I'm  awfully  sorry 
that  I've  broken  up  the  harmony  of  the  meeting ;  and  I'll 
do  penance  now,  by  calling  on  an  invalid  aunt.  When 
I'm  gone,  you  can  listen  to  love-stories  as  long  as  you 
like." 

"  No ;  don't  you  go,  Avenel." 

Richard  Garratt  was  one  of  the  most  good-natured 
creatures  breathing,  and  would  have  gone  out  of  his  way 
rather  than  tread  on  a  worm ;  but,  for  the  life  of  him,  he 
could  not  help  laying  an  emphasis  on  the  personal  pro- 
noun that  would  have  been  significant  to  a  duller  compre- 
hension than  Kendall's. 

"I'll  go,"  he  said,  sullenly  ;  "  indeed,  I'd  much — much 
rather." 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  145 

Beyond  the  faintest  of  formal  remonstrances  from  the 
host,  no  attempt  was  made  to  detain  him ;  and  Tiernan, 
who  had  assisted  at  the  scene  with  as  much  astonishment 
as  if  he  were  utterly  innocent  of  having  provoked  it,  did 
not  think  it  necessary  to  bear  his  maestro  company. 

The  after-breakfast  talk  in  Charles  Street  was  often  pro- 
longed into  the  afternoon;  but  to-day  no  one  seemed  to 
have  energy  enough  to  shake  off  the  wet  blanket  that  had 
fallen  on  the  company ;  and  the  smoking-room  was  de- 
serted a  full  hour  earlier  than  usual. 

Quoth  Polwarth  to  his  subaltern,  as  they  walked  away 
together, — 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Terry ;  we'll  have  to  take  measures 
with  your  music-madness.  I  don't  so  much  mind  being 
driven  wild  at  all  hours  of  the  day  and  night  by  your  na- 
tive wood-notes"  (they  lodged  in  contiguous  chambers) ; 
"but  if  your  tongue  leads  you  into  bad  company  it'll 
have  to  be  slit,  and  that's  all  about  it.  A  pleasant  sort  of 
'  pal'  you've  picked  up  lately — a  creditable  sort  of  crea- 
ture, to  be  Terry-ing  you  all  over  the  place,  and  making 
you  his  confidant.  All  that  happened  this  morning  was 
more  than  half  your  fault.  What  the  devil  did  you  mean 
by  trotting  him  out  for  a  show  ?  Aren't  you  thoroughly 
ashamed  of  yourself?" 

And  the  subaltern  was  constrained  to  confess  that  he 
had  indeed  "  made  a  regular  hash  of  it,"  and  that  "Ken- 
dall had  come  out  in  rank  bad  form ;"  and,  furthermore, 
to  promise  that  he  would  not  lightly  entreat  this  tuneful 
person  to  a  dinner  on  guard. 


146  BREAKING  A  BUTTERFLY;    OR, 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

AVENEL'S  charitable  resolve  went  the  way  of  many 
other  good  intentions.  His  invalid  aunt  waited  in  vain 
that  afternoon  for  the  visit  which  was  none  of  the  least 
of  her  "consolations;"  for  that  devout  lady — though  she 
would  have  been  exceeding  wroth  had  such  an  idea  been 
suggested  to  her — did  in  truth  prefer  the  company  of  this 
graceless  nephew  to  that  of  more  strait-laced  relatives. 
Regy  went  to  his  chambers,  and  shut  the  door  upon  the 
outer  world,  in  a  frame  of  mind  very  unsabbatical  and 
unsatisfactory.  He  was  thoroughly  *  discontented,  not 
only  with  the  aspect  of  things  in  general,  but  also  with 
himself.  In  the  first  place,  he  held  it  unworthy  of  a  lit- 
erate person  to  lose  his  temper,  under  any  circumstances 
whatsoever,  to  the  extent  of  speaking  unadvisedly. 
Though  he  had  maintained  a  decent  outward  show  of 
coolness,  he  could  not  deny  that  his  anger  had  passed 
boiling-point  more  than  once — a  gross  mistake,  to  say  the 
least  of  it.  But  there  was  worse  behind. 

Without  wearing  his  heart  actually  on  his  sleeve, 
Avenel  was  more  truthful  than  most  men  who  have  lived 
his  life.  His  moral  law  was  sufficiently  elastic  ;  but  the 
saving  of  a  woman's  credit  was,  in  his  eyes,  about  the 
only  excuse  which  could  turn  a  lie  into  a  venial  sin ;  and 
in  such  a  strait  he  had  seldom  been  placed.  Now,  this 
morning,  if  he  had  not  spoken  a  falsehood,  it  is  most  cer- 
tain he  had  acted  one.  He  pitied  Kendall  no  more  than 
any  other  venomous  creature  on  which  he  had  chanced  to 
trample ;  but  the  fact  of  his  having  come  out  of  the  en- 
counter with  flying  colors  did  not  make  his  cause  the 
stronger.  As  a  mere  question  of  justice,  what  right  had 
he  to  hold  up  the  man  as  a  vain  braggart,  not  to/  be  be- 
lieved on  his  oath,  knowing  all  the  while  that,  base  as 
the  hint  might  have  been,  the  other  was  only  hinting  at 
the  truth  ? 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S -ENDING.  147 

Avenel  had  seen  that  arnilet  before  in  a  certain  jeweler's 
shop  that  he  was  fond  of  frequenting,  having  a  great  taste 
for  cunning  goldsraith's-work.  He  had  been  first  struck 
by  the  device  of  the  fetterlock,  then  by  the  name  embossed 
on  the  gold ;  and,  hearing  it  was  for  Lady  Gwendoline 
Marston,  who  was  expected  to  call  for  it  herself,  had  be- 
stowed on  the  damsel  a  waltz  that  same  evening,  with 
the  express  purpose  of  questioning  her. 

"It's  for  Helen  Tyrconnel,"  Nina  said,  coolly,  though 
her  color  flickered  as  she  spoke.  "  She's  my  pet  friend, 
you  know,  and  she's  to  be  married  next  Thursday.  No 
one  but  her  is  to  know  where  it  comes  from.  Regy,  you 
won't  get  me  into  a  scrape  by  telling  any  one  ?  I  hear 
sermons  enough  about  extravagance  as  it  is ;  and  this 
one  would  be  an  awful  homily.  I'll  keep  a  secret  for  you 
whenever  you  ask  me  ;  I  will,  indeed." 

A  pretty  woman's  confidences  are  not,  as  a  rule,  burdens 
grievous  to  be  borne ;  and  Avenel,  though  a  philosopher 
in  his  way,  had  never  studied  in  the  Stoic  school.  He 
considered  himself  almost  as  one  of  the  Marston  family. 
All  the  platonic  devotion  that  he  could  spare  was  en- 
grossed by  Rose  Nithsdale  ;  and  he  would  no  more  have 
dreamed  of  flirting  with  Xina  than  with  any  other  child- 
cousin.  But  she  looked  too  bewitching  just  then  to  be 
refused  anything ;  and  it  would  have  been  too  absurd  for 
Avenel  to  have  taken  up  his  parable  against  extravagance : 
so  he  gave  the  promise  readily  enough,  and  had  never 
given  the  matter  a  second  thought  since. 

Now,  with  his  real  regret  at  the  girl's  folly  mingled  a 
twinge  of  injured  self-esteem,  as  he  remembered  how 
easily  he  had  been  fooled.  Hoodwinking  is  not  pleasant, 
even  when  performed  by  a  mistress  of  falconry ;  but  it  is 
more  aggravating  still  to  be  blindfolded  by  a  mere  chit, 
who  ought  to  be  busy  with  her  broidery- frame,  instead 
of  meddling  with  lures  and  jesses. 

Over  all  these  things  Avenel  meditated,  smoking  sul- 
lenly the  while ;  but,  beyond  a  vague  impression  that  it 
behoved  him  to  do  something  without  delay,  he  arrived 
at  no  conclusion.  He  generally  found  Nithsdale  House 
within  the  limits  of  a  Sabbath-day's  journey ;  and  went 
straight  thither  on  leaving  his  chambers,  purposing,  if 


148  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

opportunity  should  serve,  to  propound  the  difficulty  to 
the  countess. 

Of  whatsoever  shortcomings  in  respect  to  the  Deca- 
logue this  lady  may  have  been  guilty,  she  carried  out 
thoroughly  at  least  one  of  its  precepts — that  of  making 
the  Seventh  Day  a  day  of  rest.  The  attractions  must 
have  been  exceptional  that  would  have  tempted  her  to 
dine  abroad ;  and  not  above  a  dozen  names  were  exempted 
from  the  general  orders  of  "Not  at  home"  on  Sunday. 
Her  boudoir  was  nearly  as  full  as  it  could  hold,  according 
to  Lady  Rose's  idea,  when  Avenel  entered:  that  is  to 
say,  three  besides  herself  were  there  assembled.  Two 
of  these  were  men,  pleasant  to  look  upon  and  to  listen 
to,  or  they  would  not  have  been  sitting  where  they 
were,  and  as  it  chanced — for  this  was  by  no  means  a 
sequitur — no  less  eligible  as  partis  than  as  partners. 
The  third  person  was  Gwendoline  Marston. 

Avenel  knew  the  habits  of  the  house  well  enough  to 
be  aware  that  a  coterie  such  as  this  did  not  break  up  in 
a  hurry,  and  saw  no  present  chance  of  consultation  with 
Lady  Rose ;  however,  if  his  interest  in  securing  a  tete-d- 
tete  had  been  purely  personal,  he  never  would  have  dreamt 
of  sulking  at  its  being  deferred.  Nothing  could  exceed 
the  air  of  domestic  comfort  with  which  he  settled  himself 
into  his  favorite  corner. 

The  concentrated  wit  of  all  assembled  there  would 
scarcely  have  furnished  forth  one  brilliant  conversation- 
alist; but  they  were  very  pleasant  in  their  own  way, 
and  relished  their  mild  jokes  and  harmless  repartee  quite 
as  keenly  as  sager  and  sourer  people  relish  highly-spiced 
epigrams  or  venomous  satire.  If  the  laughter  was  not 
very  discriminating,  it  rang  none  the  less  musically. 

Lady  Nithsdale  was  too  indolent  to  take  her  proper 
share  in  the  talk ;  but  Nina  more  than  made  up  for  her 
sister's  deficiencies.  It  almost  seemed  as  if  the  girl  had 
some  presentiment  of  approaching  danger,  and  guessed 
too  from  what  quarter  the  danger  came.  If  she  had 
meant  beforehand  coaxing  Avenel  into  a  good  frame  of 
mind,  she  could  hardly  have  laid  herself  out  more  assidu- 
ously toward  that  object,  or,  to  speak  the  truth,  more 
successfully.  Regy  was  not  so  often  really  amused  but 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  149 

tbat  he  could  feel  grateful  to  any  one,  male  or  female,  who 
purveyed  him  such  entertainment.  Before  he  had  sat 
there  an  hour,  he  said  within  himself, — 

"  She  shall  have  another  chance,  though  she  don't  de- 
serve it." 

And  he  resolved  to  bring  Nina  to  confession,  before 
betraying  her  delinquencies  even  to  Rose  Nithsdale.  The 
opportunity  presented  itself  sooner  than  he  had  reckoned 
on.  Tea  was  scarcely  over,  when  Gwendoline  said, — 

"  W'ill  some  one  put  me  into  a  cab  and  pack  me  off 
home  at  once  ?  I'm  dreadfully  late  as  it  is.  We  have  to 
dine  at  Richmond — at  seven,  of  all  unchristian  hours ! 
And  the  Buckhursts  are  so  awfully  punctual." 

"You'll  walk  home  in  about  half  the  time,"  Avenel  in- 
terrupted ;  "  and  I'll  take  care  of  you.  I've  overstayed  my 
time  here  too,  considering  what  I  have  to  do  before  dinner. 
You'll  trust  her  with  me  so  far,  won't  you,  Lady  Rose  ?" 

Lady  Nithsdale's  eyes  opened  rather  wonderingly.  She 
was  the  least  jealous  and  suspicious  of  mortals ;  but  she 
was  not  wont  to  see  Avenel  so  ready  with  his  offers  of 
escort ;  and  she  was  rather  puzzled  as  to  the  nature  of 
the  business  which  could  call  him  away  from  her  boudoir 
so  peremptorily  on  a  Sunday  afternoon.  She  bit  her  lip 
ever  so  slightly,  as  she  answered, — 

"  Oh,  yes;  I  can  trust  you — so  far.  I  dout  think  either 
of  you  will  get  into  mischief  between  here  and  Carrington 
Crescent.  What  you'll  do  afterward " 

So  those  two  went  off  together.  When  they  were 
fairly  in  the  street,  said  Avenel, — 

"Have  you  heard  from  your  pet  friend  lately,  Nina? 
You.  know  who  I  mean,  of  course — Helen  Irnham,  nee 
Tyrconnel.  Do  you  know  where  she  is  now?" 

"  I  haven't  heard  very  lately,"  she  replied ;  and  once 
again  her  color  flickered;  "but  I  know  she's  in  Paris. 
They  went  over  before  the  Grand  Prix,  and  won't  be 
back  for  another  ten  days  at  least." 

"You  think  so  ?  Then  you'd  be  very  much  surprised 
if  I  told  you  that  I  met  her  at  breakfast  this  morning — 
at  a  bachelor-breakfast,  too,  in  the  Albany.  Odd  place  to 
meet  a  bride  in — wasn't  it?  Irnham's  an  easy-going  crea- 
ture ;  but  I  doubt  if  he'd  approve." 

13* 


150  BREAKING  A    BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

In  a  bewilderment  that  could  scarcely  have  been  feigned, 
she  stopped  short,  gazing  up  at  him. 

"What  utter  nonsense  you  are  talking!  What  can 
you  possibly  mean?" 

"Don't  strike  an  attitude,"  he  retorted.  "You  can 
hardly  have  learnt  to  be  theatrical — already.  I'm  talking 
perfectly  good  sense,  though  in  rather  a  roundabout  man- 
ner. You  gave  that  armlet  to  Helen  Irnham,  you  know. 
Well,  I  met  the  wearer  of  it,  precisely  at  the  time  and 
place  I  have  mentioned.  I  recognized  it  directly.  '  If  I 
hadn't,  I  and  half  a  dozen  more  might  have  examined  it 
9-t  our  leisure.  It  has  changed  owners,  perhaps  you'll 
say.  No ;  I  don't  think  you  will  say  that,  though,  or 
that  you  will  say  that  you  don't  know  now  what  I  mean." 

Walking  on  by  his  side,  she  looked  up  again — very 
pale  this  time,  but  without  a  sign  of  flinching.  Her  lips 
moved  before  she  spoke  aloud.  An  ear  laid  close  against 
them  might  possibly  have  caught  three  syllables : — 

"  How  could  he  ?'" 

"  You're  quite  right,  Regy,"  she  said,  aloud.  "  I'm  not 
going  to  tell  you  any  more  falsehoods.  I  know  what  you 
mean  very  well.  The  bracelet  has  always  been  where  it 
now  is.  I'm  not  sorry  for  that ;  but  I'm  very  sorry  that 
you  have  seen  it,  and  seen  it — so." 

She  could  scarcely  have  gone  on,  for  the  choking  in  her 
throat ;  but  Avenel  broke  in  here, — 

"  You  didn't  reckon  on  his  parading  it,  then  ?  Why, 
those  novelettes  you're  so  fond  of  might  have  given  you 
a  better  insight  into  ihejeune  premier  form.  He  didn't 
steal  it,  after  all  ?  I'm  rather  glad  I  suggested  the  pos- 
sibility, though." 

The  fire,  slumbering  always  in  the  depths  of  the  Span- 
ish eyes,  flashed  out. 

"  You  said  that,  knowing  all  the  while  it  must  be  a 
base,  cruel  falsehood.  How  dared  you  ?" 

"  There  wasn't  much  daring  required,"  he  said,  rather 
scornfully;  "and  if  there  had  been — though  I  don't  pre- 
tend to  be  a  champion — I'd  have  tried  to  screw  my  cour- 
age up  to  the  sticking-point,  to  stop  the  name  of  your 
father's  daughter  being  made  a  shuttlecock  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  such  a  company." 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  151 

The  girl  laughed  insolently. 

"  My  father's  daughters  are  infinitely  obliged  to  you. 
Such  disinterested  kindness  is  quite  touching.  I  don't 
know  what  we  can  have  done  to  deserve  it.  Don't  you 
think  the  taking  care  of  Rosie's  reputation  is  about  as 
much  as  you  can  manage  ?  What  is  the  disgrace  if  my 
name  was  coupled  with  his — just  as  if  he  were  not  better 
— cleverer — dearer  in  all  ways— than  the  best  of  you  I" 

Her  passion  moved  him  no  more  than  if  Lady  Niths- 
dale's  pet  lory,  whom  he  was  always  teasing,  had  pecked 
him  rather  sharply. 

"  I  wouldn't  take  the  passers-by  into  my  confidence,  if 
I  were  you,  however  proud  you  may  be  of  your  secrets. 
That  respectable  couple  nearly  dropped  their  prayer- 
books,  and  looked  quite  scandalized.  Child,  all  your 
heroics  won't  make  a  hero  of  Mr.  Kendall.  Troubadours 
are  at  a  discount,  even  in  Provence,  just  now.  I  don't 
abuse  him,  mind.  I  know  nothing  of  who  he  is  or 
whence  he  comes;  and,  if  what  I've  heard  is  true,  per- 
haps he  couldn't  give  us  much  information  pn  those  points 
himself.  But  I  know  that  if  he  were  all  you  say,  and 
more,  he's  not  a  fit  person  to  be  flashing  about  gages 
(Vamour — or  d'amitie  either,  for  that  matter — from  Gwen- 
doline Marston.  However,  we  won't  discuss  the  question 
any  further.  It  isn't  likely  we  shall  agree;  and,  as  you 
very  properly  observe,  it's  no  concern  of  mine.  I  suppose 
it  does  concern  slightly  your  mother  and  father,  though. 
We'll  refer  it  to  one  or  both  of  them,  if  you  please." 

She  stopped  short  once  more — luckily  the  street  was 
nearly  deserted  just  there — clasping  his  arm  with  both 
her  hands;  so  that,  without  actual  violence,  he  could 
scarcely  have  stirred  from  where  they  stood.  The  same 
terror  was  in  her  face ;  but  the  threat  of  betrayal  worked 
far  more  powerfully  now  than  when,  two  months  ago,  it 
brought  her,  outwardly  at  least,  to  submission;  for  with 
the  dread  of  being  separated  from  him  there  mingled  a 
vague  apprehension  of  insult  or  injury  imminent  over 
Horace  Kendall.  The  big  drops  gathered  slowly  in  her 
eyes  ;  and  there  came  into  them  the  expression — at  once 
piteous  and  desperate — that  may  be  seen  in  those  of  a 
deer  brought  to  bay  011  a  crag's  edge,  where  the  sole 


152  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

chance  of  escape  from  the  hounds  is  a  leap  into  air.  An 
old,  old  simile,  that ;  but  an  apt  one,  nevertheless.  Those 
who  have  ridden  straight  from  the  find  under  Dunkerry 
Beacon  to  the  finish  on  the  Channel  Cliffs,  and  were  up  at 
the  finish,  can  bear  witness  that  the  first  half  of  the  paral- 
lel is  no  flight  of  fancy ;  the  second,  I  fear  me,  will  hold 
good  so  long  as  womanhood  has  sorrows. 

"  You  won't  do  that,  Regy,"  she  said,  at  last,  in  a  faint 
voice  ;  "  not  just  yet,  at  least.  You'll  give  ine  a  week ;  well, 
then,  three  days — just  three  days.  I  promise — I  swear  I 
won't  do  anything  rash — anything  anybody  need  mind  ; 
and  I'll  tell  you  honestly  what  I  have  done.  Of  course 
you  are  right ;  of  course  they'd  lock  me  up  rather  than  let 
me  see  him ;  and  I'm  so  helpless ;  but  I  must,  I  must  tell 
him  in  my  own  way  that  it's — that  it's  all  over." 

To  Avenel's  consternation — for,  under  the  most  favor- 
able circumstances  of  time  and  place,  he  dreaded  a  scene 
— she  fairly  broke  down  here.  How  at  that  moment  he 
regretted  ever  having  meddled  at  all,  is  not  to  be  told. 
His  first  impulse — rather  a  cowardly  one,  it  must  be 
owned — was  to  calm  Nina  at  any  price ;  but  he  really 
pitied  her  besides. 

"For  God's  sake  don't  do  that!"  he  said,  imploringly. 
"I  don't  want  to  bully  you,  if  you'll  only  be  reasonable, 
or  to  get  you  into  a  scrape,  either.  I  never  told  tales  of 
man,  woman,  or  child  yet.  There,  I'll  take  your  word, 
and  keep  your  secret ;  but  you'll  set  all  straight,  like  a 
good,  sensible  girl,  won't  you  ?  You'll  thank  me  for  this 
one  of  these  days." 

As  she  dropped  his  arm,  and  moved  on  again,  she 
smiled  up  at  him  through  her  tears — a  quaint,  sad  smile. 

"Perhaps  I  may.  I  thank  you  now,  at  all  events;  and 
you  sha'n't  repent  trusting  me,  Regy." 

Not  another  word  was  spoken  till  they  reached  Lord 
Daventry's  door.  As  her  escort  was  about  to  ring,  Nina 
laid  her  hand  on  his  wrist. 

"Only  one  thing — you  won't  do  or  say  anything  that 
could  hurt  him  ?" 

Aveuel  prided  himself,  with  great  reason,  on  the  even- 
ness of  his  temper ;  but,  for  the  second  time  that  day,  it 
was  fairly  ruffled.  The  obstinacy,  and  wanton  waste  of 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLfE'S  ENDING.  153 

solicitude,  were  a  little  more  than  he  could  bear.  He 
shook  off  the  little  hand  with  a  certain  roughness,  and 
rang  the  bell  sharply. 

"I'm  not  in  the  babit  of  abusing  people  behind  their 
backs;  and  Mr.  Kendall  and  I  are  not  on  speaking  terms." 

He  walked  away  without  further  ceremony,  leaving  the 
damsel  planted  somewhat  disconsolately  there.  A  lively 
Richmond  dinner,  I  suppose,  is  rather  the  exception  than 
the  rule ;  but  few  of  us  have  undergone  such  a  penance 
as  that  evening's  entertainment  proved  to  Gwendoline 
Marston. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

MORNING  in  Kensington  Gardens  again;  but  mornings 
follow,  and  resemble  not  each  other.  On  such  a  day — 
for  it  was  not  summer  always  even  in  Arcadia  —  the 
Loving  Shepherd's  pipe  could  hardly  be  attuned  to  son- 
nets, nor  would  Daphne  have  shown  much  indulgence  to 
his  lagging  muse.  Not  a  break  or  gleam  in  the  dull  leaden 
sky — not  a  breath  of  breeze  to  clear  the  murky  air — not 
a  whisper  from  the  sullen  elms. 

I  think  we  hardly  realize  sufficiently  the  effect  of  at- 
mospheric influences  in  this  curious  climate  of  ours ;  nor 
how  they  affect  persons  to  whom  "nerves" — in  the  com- 
mon acceptation  of  the  word — are  things  of  theory.  Years 
and  years  ago,  when,  during  the  decline  of  the  P.  R.,  there 
still  were  fights  without  crosses,  on  the  eve  of  a  famous 
battle  I  heard  a  gladiator  say,  speaking  of  what  the  mor- 
row would  bring  forth, — 

"  I  hope  it'll  be  gay  weather.  I'd  chance  the  sun  in 
my  eyes  for  a  real  heartsomc  morning." 

To  the  criminals  pacing  to  and  fro  in  the  prison-yard 
for  a  half-hour  on  their  enforced  constitutional,  do  you 
suppose  it  matters  nothing  whether  the  square  patch  of 
sky  above  be  bright  or  lowering  ?  There  arc  days  on 
which  good  news,  however  agreeable  the  surprise  miglit 


154  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

be,  would  come  to  most  of  us  colored  with  a  certain  in- 
consistency. 

On  this  especial  morning  it  is  more  than  doubtful  if 
Horace  Kendall  would  have  received  the  pleasantest  news 
gratefully  or  graciously.  It  was  just  twenty-four  hours 
since  that  breakfast-party  in  the  Albany  broke  up.  He 
had  been  gnashing  his  teeth,  so  to  speak,  ever  since,  over 
the  recollection  thereof.  One  of  the  attributes  of  natures 
such  as  his  is  a  proneness  to  shift  their  own  burdens  on 
to  any  other  shoulders  whatsoever,  and  never,  by  any 
chance,  to  blame  themselves  for  any  mishap  or  mistake 
while  it  is  barely  possible  to  throw  the  responsibility  on 
friend  or  foe.  In  Horace's  composition  there  were  no 
such  things  as  "fine  feelings;"  but,  from  mere  personal 
vanity,  he  felt  contumely  quite  as  keenly  as  many  en- 
dowed with  more  delicate  sensibility.  If  he  had  looked 
the  matter  fairly  in  the  face,  he  must  have  acknowledged 
that  all  that  befell  yesterday  was  the  result  of  his  own 
Juanesque  posing,  and  that  the  display  of  the  armlet  was 
no  more  accidental  than  any  other  planned  stage-trick. 
But  looking  things,  or  people,  in  the  face  is  precisely  what 
men  of  his  stamp  will  not  or  cannot  do.  He  hated  his 
host  for  not  taking  his  part;  Tieruan  for  the  unlucky 
question  that  provoked  the  debate ;  each  and  every  one 
of  the  assistants  thereat  for  being  witnesses  —  not  ill- 
pleased  witnesses  either,  he  fancied — of  his  discomfiture: 
most  savagely  of  all,  of  course,  he  hated  Avenel ;  but  he 
would  sooner  have  accused  Gwendoline  Marston  of  bring- 
ing him  to  grief  with  her  romantic  whims  than  imputed 
to  himself  a  tittle  of  blame. 

Yet,  if  he  were  not  troubled  with  self-reproach,  Kendall 
spent  about  as  uncomfortable  a  Sabbath  afternoon  as 
can  well  be  conceived.  He  too  went  straight  to  his  o\vn 
rooms,  and  did  not  stir  forth  till  the  evening,  when  he 
was  engaged  to  dine  out.  It  was  a  large  party,  made  up 
of  an  exclusively  musical  set.  It  was  any  odds  against 
any  one  there  present  having  been  made  aware  of  his 
misadventure  in  the  morning;  nevertheless,  Kendall  felt 
as  if  every  glance  that  dwelt  upon  him  for  more  than  a 
second's  space  was  either  inquisitive  or  derisive.  \Vhrn 
there  was  low  talk  and  laughter  at  the  fart  her  end  of  the 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  155 

table  from  where  he  sat,  he  grew  hot  at  the  suspicion 
that  he  himself  furnished  matter  for  the  jest.  He  could 
not  well  refuse  to  sing ;  but  one  attempt  showed  so  plainly 
that  his  plea  of  not  being  in  voice  was  no  formal  excuse, 
that  the  mistress  of  the  mansion  forbore  to  press  him 
further.  Horace  was  right  glad  to  get  back  to  his  own 
rooms  again.  Intemperance  was  not  among  his  vices  ; 
but  his  "  night-cap"  that  evening  would  have  fitted  a  much 
more  seasoned  head ;  and  even  this  procured  only  fever- 
ish and1  broken  sleep.  , 

Few  men,  indeed,  reach  their  life's  end  without  having 
cause  to  remember  what  it  is  to  wake  with  the  conscious- 
ness that  trouble  is  lying  in  wait  just  beyond  the  thresh- 
old of  the  day.  Most  of  us  know  only  too  familiarly 
that  "evil  quarter-hour,"  and  the  manner  thereof:  how 
there  comes  at  first  a  vague  impression  of  something 
having  gone  very  wrong ;  and  how  that  something  looms 
nearer  and  larger,  like  the  images  of  the  phantasmagoria, 
till  it  confronts  us  in  full,  it  may  be  in  exaggerated,  pro- 
portions. Certain  adventurers,  they  say,  in  the  course 
of  warfare  with  the  world,  become  proof  against  this, 
among1  other  human  weaknesses ;  but,  fortunately  for 
society,  such  mighty  Adullamites  are  rare.  A  racking 
headache  did  not  improve  the  color  of  Kendall's  morning 
meditations.  Not  without  a  misgiving  of  what  the  post 
might  have  in  store,  he  reached  out  his  hand  for  his  letters 
Only  one,  as  it  happened,  was  of  the  least  moment,  and 
was  brief  enough  in  all  conscience. 

"At  eleven,  in  the  old  place.    You  must  be  there.    N." 

That  was  all.  Nothing,  one  would  have  thought,  to 
make  his  hand  shake  as  he  read  the  note  and  cast  it  down 
beside  him  with  an  oath.  With  what,  or  with  whom,  he 
was  angry  he  himself  could  scarcely  have  told  you;  that 
curse  was  not  leveled  at  any  one  head  in  particular ;  but 
things  in  general  seemed  going  contrary ;  and,  with  men 
of  his  kind,  blasphemy  is  the  readiest  panacea 

That  the  note  had  something  to  do  with  the  occurrences 
of  yesterday  morning  he  felt  sure.  How  could  she  have 
heard  of  it,  though  ?  Avenel  had  told  her,  probably — this 
time  the  malison  had  a  mark.  If  it  were  only  Nina's 
auger,  he  could  set  that  square  easily  enough ;  but  sup- 


156  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

pose  Lady  Nithsdale  had  been  told  too?  This  would 
complicate  matters  considerably.  It  would  come  to  Lady 

Daventry  's  ears  next,  and  then Well,  He  would  hear 

the  worst  or  the  best  of  it  soon;  and  there  was  not  much 
time  to  spare,  if  Nina  was  not  to  be  kept  waiting,  which, 
under  the  circumstances,  might  be  hardly  advisable.  She 
might  just  as  well  hare  made  it  an  hour  later,  though. 

Grumbling  to  himself  in  this  wise,  Kendall  arose,  made 
a  careful  toilet,  though  not  quite  so  scientific  as  usual  — 
he  had  become  a  thorough  petit-maitre  of  late, — swallowed 
a  cup  of  coffee,  more  as  an  excuse  for  the  chasse  than  for 
its  own  sake,  and  reached  the  trysting-place  a  minute  or 
so  before  the  appointed  hour.  As  he  put  his  watch  back 
after  ascertaining  this,  he  saw  Gwendoline  Marston  ap- 
proaching. Kendall's  perceptions,  when  his  own  interests 
or  inclinations  were  not  immediately  concerned,  were  not 
very  keen ;  but,  as  the  girl  drew  near,  even  he  guessed 
that  it  was  not  only  to  upbraid  him  that  she  had  sum- 
moned him  thither.  Her  head,  instead  of  being  lifted 
in  eager*  expectancy,  as  it  was  when  they  met  there  be- 
fore, was  bowed  dejectedly;  and  her  step,  as  she  came 
slowly  across  the  grass,  was  liker  a  sick  woman's  than 
that  of  a  girl  with  Spanish  blood  in  her  veins. 

"  What  has  happened  ?"  Horace  asked,  as  he  took  her 
hand  in  both  his  own.  He  had  intended  to  treat  the  mat- 
ter in  a  light,  off-hand  way ;  but,  when  it  came  to  the 
point,  his  nerve  failed  him.  It  was  evident  enough,  from 
his  manner,  that  he  divined  the  nature  of  her  news. 

"  Can't  you  guess  ?  Have  you  forgotten  yesterday 
morning  already  ?" 

In  her  tone  there  was  nothing  of  reproach  or  scorn, 
only  intense  sadness:  nevertheless,  he  dropped  her  hand 
at  once,  and  his  countenance  fell. 

"  So  you  have  heard  of  it — his  version,  too — and  you 
have  come  to  take  his  part  now?  His  conduct,  of  course, 
was  chivalrous,  and  all  the  rest  of  it ;  and  mine " 

"You  are  quite  wrong,"  she  interrupted,  always  in  the 
same  quiet,  sad  voice.  "  So  little  was  told  me,  that  I  can 
only  guess  at  what  was  said  or  done ;  and  you  would  not 
say  that  I  took  his  part,  if  you  had  heard  me  speak  yes- 
terday. That  fetterlock  was  a  very  foolish  fancy  of  mine. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  157 

I  know;  but  I  never  thought  that  any  one  besides  you 
would  have  laughed  at  it." 

"  I  never  meant  to  show  it.  I  can't  help  it,  if  you 
choose  to  make  an  unpardonable  sin  out  of  a  mere  acci- 
dent." 

His  eyes  were  bent  sullenly  downward  as  he  spoke ; 
but  it  needed  not  to  look  into  them  to  know  that  he  *was 
lying.  Some  such  conviction,  perchance,  was  borne  in 
upon  Nina,  despite  herself,  for  she  answered  only  the 
last  words. 

"I  have  nothing  to  pardon,  dear ;  you  have  not  sinned 
against  me.  It  was  not  because  I  am  ashamed  of  caring 
for  you  that  I  begged  you  to  be  cautious.  It  was  be- 
cause I  felt  there  would  be  dreadful  danger  if  any  one 
else  were  taken  into  our  secret.  I  didn't  hear  who  else 
besides  Regy  Avenel  were  present;  but  we  are  at  his 
mercy,  at  all  events.  Now  you  know  what  has  hap- 
pened." 

"Curse  his  insolence!"  he  said,  viciously.  "What 
right  has  he  to  dictate  to  me,  or  to  set  himself  up  as  your 
protector?  He  shall  suffer  for  this  somehow,  by !" 

She  shrank  away  from  him  now. 

"Hush  I  I  should  hate  to  hear  such  words  from  you, 
even  if  they  could  help  us  in  the  least.  I  don't  say 
he's  any  right  to  interfere  ;  but,  if  he  thinks  he  has,  it 
conies  to  the  same  thing.  He  won't  be  frightened  into 
silence,  I'm  very  sure.  It  was  all  I  could  do  to  get  three 
days'  grace.  He  won't  betray  us  till  I've  seen  him  again. 
He  won't  betray  us  at  all,  if  I  act,  as  he  calls  it,  '  sen- 
sibly.'" 

"  Sensibly !  That  means  giving  me  up  for  good  and 
all.  Well,  it's  a  modest  condition,  and  not  hard  to  fulfill. 
That's  what  you  are  driving  at,  I  suppose  ?" 

As  she  gazed  up  at  him,  her  eyes  brightened,  not  with 
the  gleam  of  quick  excitement,  but  with  the  steady  light 
of  resolve. 

"So  hard — that  I  think  I  would  die  before  I  would 
promise  any  such  thing.  We  must  have  patience  and 
faith,  dear ;  that's  all.  We  must  not  meet  again,  except 
by  accident,  for  a  long,  long  time.  Indeed,  indeed,  we 
have  no  choice.  I've  not  been  verv  carefullv  watched, 

14 


158  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

hitherto ;  but,  if  this  were  known  at  home,  I  should  be 
simply  a  prisoner,  till  they  had  made  sure  that  we  were 
parted  forever.  You  know  this  as  well  as  I  do — don't 
you,  now  ?  I'm  miserable  enough  as  it  is,  without  your 
being  unjust  and  unkind." 

He  stood  silent  awhile,  debating  what  he  should  answer. 
A  strong  temptation  just  then  assailed  him  ;  the  tempta- 
tion to  test  his  power  over  Nina  there  and  then — to  try 
whether  he  could  not  induce  her  to  cast  in  her  lot  with 
him  at  once,  by  consenting  to  an  elopement  so  soon  as 
opportunity  should  serve.  He  did  not  mistrust  his  own 
eloquence,  and  Nina  had  never  looked  so  attractive  as  at 
this  moment.  To  a  man  of  his  vainglorious  temperament, 
the  notoriety  of  such  an  adventure  was  in  itself  a  strong 
inducement :  nevertheless,  he  forbore.  Thinking  over  these 
things  afterward,  he  took  infinite  credit  to  himself;  yet 
pity  or  generosity  bad  wonderfully  little  to  do  with  it. 
The  safety  of  his  own  precious  person  was  with  Kendall 
the  chiefest  of  all  earthly  considerations.  He  had  a  strong 
impression  that  the  law  might  call  his  romantic  escapade 
by  some  uglier  name,  that  would  render  him  amenable  to 
all  manner  of  penalties.  Furthermore,  he  argued  within 
himself  that  he  and  his  bride  would  have  to  feed  almost 
literally  on  crusts,  till  such  time  as  it  should  please  the 
Daventrys  to  condone  the  offense ;  and  after  all,  now  and 
then,  such  monsters  as  parents  indefinitely  relentless  will 
sometimes  outrage  dramatic  proprieties.  If  the  whole 
truth  must  be  told,  there  was  in  the  background  of  his 
meditations  a  certain  figure — not  a  comely  one,  albeit  a 
woman's — whose  stout  forefinger  was  first  raised  in  warn- 
ing, and  then  pointed  to  a  goodly  pile  of  money-bags. 
On  the  whole,  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  forward 
game  was  scarcely  suited  for  his  resources,  and  that  the 
best  policy  would  be  to  yield  as  gracefully  as  might  be  to 
the/orce  majeure.  While  he  thus  reflected,  his  anger 
had  full  time  to  cool.  The  charlatan  was  himself  again 
now,  and  fell  into  his  theatrical  mannerisms  quite 
naturally.  His  facial  muscles  were  remarkably  well 
drilled ;  and  his  plaintive  expression  of  self-sacrifice  might 
have  imposed  on  a  keener  critic  than  poor  Gwendoline 
Marston. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  159 

"  It  was  too  bad  of  me  to  speak  so,"  he  said,  almost  in 
a  whisper.  "  But  this  is  such  very  sharp  pain  ;  and  it 
has  come  on  me  so  suddenly.  Not  to  meet  again  for  a 
long,  long  time  ;  so  long  that  we  can  put  no  limit  to  it 
now.  Do  you  know  what  that  means — for  me  ?  It 
means  that  the  aim  is  taken  utterly  out  of  my  life;  and 
that  I  wander  on  henceforth  without  hope  that  to-morrow 
will  be  brighter  than  to-day.  It  means  that  I  must  not 
think  of  you  as  mine  any  more,  except  in  my  dreams  ; 
that  I  ought  not  to  wear  this  any  longer," — he  stroked 
the  armlet  tenderly, — "  because,  before  I  see  you  alone 
again,  some  one  else  may  have  a  better  right  to  wear  it. 
It  means  all  this.  I  don't  murmur  or  rebel ;  I  would 
bear  a  hundredfold  more  sooner  than  bring  any  trouble  on 
your  head.  I  will  not  even  blame  you  if  you  forget  me. 
For  you  will  not  be  like  me ;  you  will  often  be  tempted  to 
forget." 

It  was  a  pretty  recitative  enough,  and  gracefully  deliv- 
ered too.  Nevertheless,  not  a  few  women,  deeming  the 
sentiments  something  too  sublime,  and  the  periods  some- 
thing too  neatly  turned,  to  have  come  straight  from  the 
heart,  would  have  requited  the  effort  by  a  smile.  But 
every  word  came  to  Nina's  ears  with  the  golden  ring  of 
truth.  The  last  three  months,  measured  by  their  influence 
on  her  character,  might  count  for  years  ;  but,  though  she 
was  a  woman  now  in  energy  of  purpose  and  strength  of 
mind,  both  to  dare  and  to  endure,  she  was  in  many  ways 
the  veriest  child  still — just  as  prone  to  invest  her  tawdry 
idol  with  all  manner  of  godlike  qualities,  as  when  she 
first  bowed  down  before  him.  As  she  listened  to  Horace 
Kendall,  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  looked  on  the  sublimity 
of  devotion  ;  and  the  tears,  that  had  gathered  more  than 
once  during  the  interview  under  the  long  dark  lashes, 
began  to  rain  down  fast.  She  bowed  her  face  upon  his 
arm,  murmuring,  as  she  pushed  the  armlet  back  on  his 
wrist, — 

"  You  will  always  keep  it ;  you  will  not  forget  ?" 

"  I  never  will.     I  never  can." 

The  spot  of  their  meeting  was  well  chosen.  The  trunk 
of  a  huge  elm  screened  them  from  most  passers-by;  and 
on  such  a  morning  there  wore  few  loiterers  in  the  gardens. 


160  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

Nevertheless,  there  is  a  time  and  place  for  all  things ;  and 
the  cavalier,  even  if  the  lady  had  lost  her  head,  might 
certainly  have  remembered  that  the  pose  was  such  as 
ought  only  to  be  rehearsed  intra  muros. 

But  Horace  took  no  heed  of  such  trifles,  as  he  launched 
forth  into  a  fvesh  tirade.  Perhaps  the  girl's  passion  was 
really  to  some  extent  infectious  ;  bul  Kendall  dearly  liked 
the  sound  of  his  own  voice ;  he  was  in  the  vein  that 
morning ;  and  it  was  not  likely  that  so  fair  a  chance  of 
airing  his  eloquence  would  soon  again  present  itself. 
Moreover,  though  he  judged  it  politic  not  to  put  his  hold 
on  Nina  to  the  breaking-strain,  he  had  no  mind  it  should 
be  loosened  except  in  his  own  good  time.  So  he  poured 
forth  a  string  of  promises,  consolations,  and  endearments, 
much  to  his  own  satisfaction,  and  greatly  to  his  hearer's 
comfort ;  for,  while  he  was  still  in  mid-career,  Nina  lifted 
her  head  half  smiling,  as  she  dried  her  eyes  with  an  absurd 
little  filmy  kerchief,  that  never  was  meant  for  such  serious 
work  as  the  stanching  of  tears. 

"Practicing  for  private  theatricals,  I  presume,  Nina? 
Will  you  present  me  to  your  dramatic  friend  ?" 

As*  the  words  were  uttered,  the  speaker  unmasked  him- 
self from  behind  the  trunk  of  the  elm. 

Horace  Kendall  was  fond  of  stage-effects,  as. you  know. 
But  in  his  programme  it  was  not  set  down  that  he  should 
find  himself  face  to  face  with  Raoul,  Earl  of  Daventry. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  161 


CHAPTER  XX. 

SOME  one — an  eminent  divine,  if  I  mistake  not — once 
valued  a  thoroughly  good  temper  at  £500  a  year.  If 
such  things  were  marketable,  Lord  Daventry's  ought  to 
have  commanded  a  fancy  price.  His  had  not  been  one 
of  the  level,  uneventful  lives  that  cause  men  to  laugh 
and  grow  fat.  Almost  all  his  pleasures,  from  youth  up- 
ward, had  been  more  or  less  fraught  with  danger,  moral, 
physical,  or  financial;  and  he  had  generally  indulged  his 
fancy  without  counting  the  cost  or  consequences.  Nev- 
ertheless, few  could  say  that  they  had  seen  the  peace  of 
his  great  calm  eyes  troubled  by  impatience  or  anger  :  as 
for  fear,  the  Marstons,  male  or  female,  had  not  been  ham- 
pered by  that  weakness  for  some  generations  past.  It 
was  quite  a  treat  to  see  him  go  in  to  back  one  of  his  own 
horses  for  a  stake  at  a  large  race-meeting.  The  layers 
of  odds  knew  pretty  well  when  Lord  Daventry  meant 
business,  and,  before  he  opened  his  mouth,  would  gather 
round  him  ravenously.  Amidst  all  the  turmoil  and  up- 
roar there  he  would  stand,  a  perfect  picture  of  repose; 
reminding  one  of  the  beautiful  sea-birds  that,  in  wild 
weather,  may  be  seen  rocking  betwixt  purple  billows. 
Through  the  clamor  of  many  voices,  hoarse  and  shrill, 
you  would  catch  sometimes  his  clear,  quiet  tones  : — 

"In  hundreds?  Yes,  you  may  put  it  down  again. — 
And  once  more  with  you,  Mr.  Irons. — An  even  monkey 
to  finish  with  ?  Thanks,  that  will  do;  no  more." 

And  then  he  would  close  his  book,  and  saunter  off  to 
look  at  the  race;  with  less  apparent  interest  in  the  result 
than  any  man  on  the  ground.  He  was  not  at  all  nice  in 
the  choice  of  his  company,  and,  if  he  had  any  purpose  to 
serve,  would  just  as  soon  be  seen  in  earnest  converse  with 
a  clever  outsider  as  with  the  most  venerated  of  turf  mag- 
nates ;  but  somehow  he  seemed  to  have  acquired  the  se- 
cret of  touching  pitch  without  being  defiled,  He  never 
L  14* 


162  BREAKING  A  BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

dreamed  of  keeping  any  one,  gentle  or  simple,  at  a  dis- 
tance ;  yet  perhaps  not  twice  in  his  life  had  he  had  occa- 
sion to  repress  insolence  or  familiarity. 

"I  wish  I'd  your  knack  of  keeping  people  in  their 
places.  It's  all  that  infernal  quiet  manner,  I  suppose ; 
but  that  ain't  so  easy  to  master." 

Thus  would  grumble  Sir  John  Pulleyne — envious,  and 
not  without  cause;  for  that  blatant  baronet,  when  he 
cursed  jockey-trainer  or  professional,  not  unfrequently  got 
to  the  full  as  bad  as  he  gave.  Even  at  whist,  the  earl 
never  visited  the  most  atrocious  fault  in  his  partner  more 
severely  than  by  a  slight  shrug  of  the  shoulders  and  a 
compassionate  smile.  Once — the  blunder  was  an  excep- 
tional one,  and  had  cost  him  something  over  two  hundred 
sovereigns — he  was  heard  to  say,  reflectively, — 

"I've  been  at  it  now  for  about  thirty  years;  and  I've 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  play  rather  tells  against  one 
than  otherwise." 

But  this  remark  was  not  made  till  the  rubber  had  been 
some  time  over,  and  it  was  murmured  too  low  to  reach 
the  ears  of  the  offender.  Neither  was  he  one  of  the 
"  angels  abroad  and  devils  at  home,"  that  seem  to  be  less 
uncommon  since  cigarettes  and  absinthe  came  in.  His 
wife  had  always  had  quite  as  much  of  his  attention  and 
his  society  as  she  cared  to  claim :  though  he  never  inter- 
fered with  the  actual  management  of  his  family,  he  liked 
to  have  his  children  with  him,  and,  when  he  had  leisure, 
was  always  willing  to  minister  to  their  amusement. 

Of  all  the  unlucky  coincidences  in  life,  the  most  fre- 
quent certainly  is  the  unwelcome  presence  of  the  "very 
last  person  one  expected  to  see."  Lord  Daventry's  pres- 
ence here  was  purely  accidental.  He  had  business  to 
transact  that  morning  with  a  famous  turf  commissioner, 
and,  for  reasons  best  known  to  himself,  had  chosen  to 
confer  with  this  potentate  at  the  latter's  own  house  in 
Tyburnia.  His  nearest  and  pleasantest  way  back  from 
the  interview  lay  through  Kensington  Gardens;  and,  as 
it  chanced,  it  led  him  within  a  few  yards  of  the  trystiug- 
spot.  His  friends  were  wont  to  deny  that  anything  could 
possibly  surprise  Daventry ;  but  this  opinion  might  have 
been  modified  by  whoso  had  retftl  his  thoughts  when  he 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  163 

first  recognized  the  female  figure  in  the  interesting  group 
over  against  him.  It  was  a  breach  of  delicacy,  of  course, 
to  approach  unobserved,  and  to  listen  to  sentiments  never 
intended  for  his  ears ;  but  I  think  few  British  parents, 
under  the  circumstances,  would  have  acted  more  chival- 
rously. 

Being  such  a  manner  of  man,  you  may  guess  that  there 
was  nothing  very  awful  in  the  demeanor  of  Nina's  father, 
though  his  appearance  did  savor  of  the  Deus  ex  nidchind; 
but  if  he  had  descended  from  the  clouds  with  all  the  at- 
tributes of  Jupiter  Tonans,  the  pair  before  him  could 
scarcely  have  been  more  startled.  The  first  impulses  of 
surprise  were  thoroughly  characteristic  of  the  two.  Hor- 
ace stepped  a  full  pace  backward ;  Nina  drew  ever  so 
little  closer  to  her  lover's  side.  She  spoke  first,  too, 
though  it  was  in  a  very  faint,  unsteady  voice  that  she 
named — 

"Mr.  Kendall." 

The  earl  lifted  his  hat.  With  whomsoever  he  was 
dealing,  he  could  not,  for  the  life  of  him,  omit  any  form 
of  courtesy.  If,  during  the  Reign  of  Terror,  he  had  been 
forced  to  pass  through  Sanson's  hands,  when  they  first 
met  face  to  face  he  would  not  have  failed  to  salute  the 
headsman. 

"One  of  the  west-country  Kendalls?"  he  said,  inter- 
rogatively. "  No  ?  That  is  the  only  family  of  the  name 
with  which  I'm  at  all  acquainted.  Ah,  now  I  remember ! 
I  have  heard  of  a  Mr.  Kendall  with  a  wonderful  voice. 
Have  I  the  pleasure  of  speaking  to  that — person  ?" 

The  pause  before  the  last  word  was  just  long  enough 
to  give  it  point — no  longer.  Horace's  scattered  thoughts 
had  not  rallied  sufficiently  to  enable  him  to  do  more  than 
bow  an  assent  to  the  suggestion. 

"Exactly  so,"  the  earl  went  on.  "This  daughter  of 
mine  seems  to  have  a  good  deal  of  dramatic  talent,  and 
I  suppose  you're  assisting  her  to  cultivate  it.  We're  in- 
finitely indebted  to  you,  I'm  sure.  But,  Nina,  my  dear, 
I  think  you've  had  about  enough  rehearsing  for  one 
morning.  You  found  your  way  here  alone,  I  presume, 
and  I  have  no  doubt  you  could  find  your  way  home  just 
as  easily;  but  there's  no  necessity  for  that,  Will  you  be 


164  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

kind  enough  to  sit  down  there" — he  pointed  to  an  unoc- 
cupied chair  about  fifty  yards  off — "till  I'm  ready  to 
escort  you  ?  I  sha'n't  detain  Mr.  Kendall  ten  minutes  ; 
but  what  I  have  to  say  to  him  I  don't  choose  you  to 
hear." 

Very  keen,  according  to  the  poets,  are  the  perceptions 
of  hate  and  fear ;  yet  are  they  much  keener  than  those  of 
any  true  woman  when  it  is  a  question  of  pain,  or  peril, 
or  even  discomfort,  impending  over  the  man  who  has  the 
keeping  of  her  heart  ?,  What  caused  Nina  to  apprehend 
that  her  lover  might  fare  ill,  if  left  unsupported  to  the 
tender  mercies  of  her  urbane  sire,  would  be  rather  hard 
to  say;  but,  having  such  a  misgiving  in  her  mind,  her 
first  impulse  followed  as  a  matter  of  course.  The  wound 
may  be  but  skin-deep,  and  he  for  whom  it  was  incurred 
is  not  always  cognizant  thereof;  but  wonderfully  often, 
in  the  tragedies  acd  comedies  of  this  life  of  ours,  that 
scene  is  enacted  which  gave  Kirkconnell  Lea  a  name  in 
story. 

"It  was  all  my  fault,  papa,"  the  girl  cried  out ;  "it  was, 
indeed!" 

The  earl  smiled  compassionately. 

"  My  dear  Nina,  I  have  no  doubt  that  your  first  French 
governess  taught  you  that  qui  s'excuse  s'accuse.  I  didn't 
say  any  one  was  in  'fault.  I  only  said,  '  Sit  down  there 
till  I  am  ready  to  take  you  home.'  Will  you  do  so  at 
once?" 

The  steady  brown  eyes  quelled  the  rising  rebellion  in 
Nina's  breast.  Very  slowly  and  reluctantly,  like  one 
who  yields  to  the  mesmeric  will,  she  did  as  she  was  bid- 
den. She  looked  back  once  over  her  shoulder;  and  then 
her  lips  rather  formed  than  uttered  the  single  word 
"good-by."  The  earl's  glance  followed  his  daughter  till 
she  sank  down  on  the  chair  he  had  pointed  out.  When 
he  turned  again  on  Kendall,  his  brow  was  still  smooth, 
but  the  smile  was  off  his  face. 

"Now,  perhaps  you  will  explain  the  meaning  of  all 
this." 

Kendall  had  expected  some  such  interrogation  for  the 
last  five  minutes,  and  was  prepared  to  reply  to  it  after 
a  fashion.  He  began  a  pretty  set  speech,  wherein  he 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  165 

was  aware  that  he  was  scarcely  worthy,  etc.  The  earl 
cut  him  short  before  the  second  period  was  scarcely 
turned. 

"Ah,  we'll  leave  all  that  out,  if  you  please.  I  prefer 
to  listen  to  that  sort  of  thing  from  a  stall  in  the  third 
row.  I  want  a  plain  answer  to  a  plain  question.  All 
clandestine  meetings  have  some  object,  I  presume.  What 
was  yours  this  morning?" 

Kendall  was  a  craven  to  the  marrow  of  his  bones ;  yet 
something  in  the  other's  manner  goaded  him  into  a  show 
of  spirit. 

"  My  object?"  he  said,  doggedly;  "the  same  object  that 
any  man  might  own  who  loves  a  w7oman  in  truth  and 
honor,  and  hopes  to  win  her  in  spite  of  some  differ- 
ences of  station.  It  may  sound  presumptuous,  of  course ; 
but  I  have  yet  to  learn  that  I  have  anything  to  be 
ashamed  of." 

The  earl  bent  his  head  in  quiet  assent. 

"I  think  you  have  a  good  deal  to  learn,  Mr.  Kendall. 
I'm  obliged  to  you  for  coming  to  the  point,  though.  Per- 
haps the  less  said  about  truth  and  honor  the  better ;  our 
ideas  are  not  likely  to  coincide.  Mine  are  old-fashioned, 
I  dare  say.  The  set  I've  lived  with  are  not  very  strait- 
laced  ;  but  they're  plain  people,  who  'would  call  compro- 
mising such  a  mere  child  as  that  one  yonder  little  better 
than  kidnapping.  No;  I'm  not  prepared  to  say  that 
there's  any  particular  presumption  about  it.  Intellect 
marches  on  so  fast,  that  very  soon  any  man  within  the 
franchise  will  be  entitled  to  ask  any  other  elector  for  his 
daughter.  I  suppose,  however,  the  said  elector  will  retain, 
for  some  short  time  to  come,  the  right  of  saying  'yes'  or 
'  no.'  You  are  good  enough  to  allow  that  there  exist  some 
slight  social  differences  between  yourself  and  Lady  Gwen- 
doline Marston.  Never  mind  that;  I'm  speaking  to  you 
now  as  if  your  birth  and  breeding  were  on  a  par.  You 
know  best  what  your  o\vn  resources  and  expectations  arc. 
I  don't  want  to  hear  a  word  on  that  subject,  for  the  simple 
reason  that  neither  now  nor  at  any  future  time  can  it 
possibly  interest  me  or  mine  ;  but,  before  you  think  se- 
riously of  winning  any  woman,  gentle  or  simple,  wouldn't 
it  be  better  to  consider  how  you  are  going  to  support  her  ? 


166  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

Now,  listen  to  me.  There's  a  certain  sum  settled  on  my 
younger  children,  of  course ;  but  Lady  Daventry  and 
myself  have  the  'power  of  appointment.'  Perhaps  you 
don't  know  what  that  means.  Well,  I  can  tell  you.  It 
means  just  this:  that  I  can  prevent  any  one  of  those 
children  from  being  one  shilling  the  better  by  that  same 
settlement  during  my  life  or  after  my  death.  Now,  this 
power,  in  case  of  need,  I  intend  to  exercise  to  the  very 
last  letter.  If  a  daughter  of  mine  marries  without  my 
consent,  she  is  cut  adrift  from  her  family  from  that  day. 
I  would  rather  thenceforth  help  with  my  purse  or  my 
influence  the  merest  stranger  than  her,  her  husband,  or 
her  children,  however  sore  their  strait  might  be.  I 
shouldn't  waste  breath  in  cursing ;  it  would  be  much 
simpler  to  leave  her  alone  to  bear  her  own  burdens. 
Under  the  circumstances,  so  long  as  I  lived — and  I  have 
a  very  fair  constitution — I  don't  think  the  'connection' 
could  be  turned  to  much  account.  I  can't  answer  for 
Lady  Daventry,  of  course ;  but  I  have  an  idea  that  her 
feelings  would  not  be  easily  worked  upon.  You  have 
heard  what  I  say — speaking  for  myself  I  will  never 
alter  or  abate  one  syllable,  so  help  me  God!  Are  you 
in  the  same  mind  still  ?" 

In  the  same  mind  ?  No,  certainly  not  that ;  but  the 
precise  state  of  Kendall's  sensations  at  that  moment  could 
not  be  easily  set  down  in  words.  He  was  quite  clever 
enough  to  distinguish  between  vaporing  menace  and  sub- 
stantial warning.  He  acknowledged  within  himself  that 
the  man  who  had  uttered  those  words  would  be  more 
likely  to  die  than  to  relent;  and — standing  there  with 
scarcely  a  wrinkle  on  his  white  forehead  or  a  silver  fleck 
in  his  chestnut  curls — Lord  Daventry  looked  provokingly 
full  of  vitality.  Weighing  the  certainty  of  heavy  risk 
against  the  faint  chances  of  remote  gains,  the  speculation 
was  hardly  such  as  to  tempt  a  prudent  pauper,  with  his 
way  to  make  in  the  world.  Nevertheless,  Horace  could 
not  bring  himself  at  once  to  relinquish  it.  To  begin  with, 
Nina  had  strong  attractions  for  him — social  and  merce- 
nary considerations  apart.  He  knew  that  to  many  others 
besides  himself  her  face  seemed  very  fair.  There  was  in- 
cessant food  for  vanity  in  the  thought  that  men  who 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  167 

scarcely  favored  him  with  a  careless  nod,  and  who  would 
have  blackballed  him  from  head  to  heel  in  any  ballot 
whatsoever,  might  have  labored  long  to  secure  one  of  the 
smiles  that  for  him  had  ceased  to  be  rare.  He  liked  the 
girl's  wayward  daring,  perhaps  all  the  better  because  it 
contrasted  so  strongly  with  his  own  cautious,  calculating 
nature.  Furthermore,  there  was  working  within  him — 
though  this,  perhaps,  he  was  utterly  unconscious  of — the 
black,  acrid  poison  that,  since  the  world  was  young,  has 
leavened  the  ferment  of  so  many  revolts — the  spleen  of 
social  inferiority. 

Without  some  sort  of  gloss,  that  last  sentence  might 
easily  be  misconstrued.  I  do  not  mean  to  claim  for  the 
"blue  blood"  immunity  from  meannesses,  or  to  assert 
that  the  guinea-stamp  is  the  best  voucher  for  purity  of 
metal,  or  to  deny  that,  setting  the  influence  of  circum- 
stance aside,  high  and  healthy  impulses  are  not  as  likely 
to  be  found  in  the  gipsy-child,  swaddled  in  haybands,  as 
in  the  daintiest  porphyrogenete.  If  the  prophecies  of  the 
meek  and  amiable  "  Historicus"  are  to  be  fulfilled,  we  will 
wish  the  working-man  good  luck  with  his  honor,  append- 
ing thereunto  the  hope  that  his  right  hand  will  not  teach 
him  too  terrible  things.  I  was  not  alluding  just  now 
either  to  the  peasant  or  artisan ;  much  less  to  those  un- 
happy creatures  who  seem  predestined  to  ramp  in  the 
mire  at  the  foof  of  the  World's  Ladder,  with  no  particular 
interest  in  any  schemes  mooted  above  that  do  not  bear 
more  or  less  directly  on  the  subversion  of  order  or  altera- 
tion of  the  penal  code.  Neither  had  I  in  mind  the  vast 
middle  class,  taken  as  a  whole,  but  only  certain  specimens 
thereof — people  who,  instead  of  doing  their  duty  in  the 
state  of  life  to  which  it  pleased  Heaven  to  call  them,  like 
the  honest  men  who  begat  them,  are  always  wriggling 
up  a  rung  higher,  utterly  careless  as  to  how  unsteady 
their  footing  may  be,  or  how  their  hands  may  be  soiled  in 
climbing — people  whose  aspirations  have  furnished  food 
for  ridicule  ever  since  pencil  of  caricaturist  or  pen  of 
satirist  was  wielded ;  those  who  brought  into  vogue  surely 
the  most  odious  word  that  ever  sprang  from  a  musical 
root — "gentility."  Mark  this  too  :  wherever  it  is  a  ques- 
tion of  class-jealousy,  the  envy  of  the  plebeian  born  and 


168  BREAKING  A    BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

bred  is  the  very  milk  of  human  kindness  compared  to 
the  malice  of  the  parvenu. 

For  some  time  past,  Kendall  had  kept  steadily  before 
him  one  object — the  securing  a  recognized  position  in 
what  is  called  society.  In  tbe  furtherance  of  this,  there 
is  scarcely  any  contumely  from  which  he  would  actually 
have  recoiled ;  bat  partial  success  only  made  him  more 
keenly  alive  to  slights  and  repulses;  albeit  many  of  these, 
perhaps,  only  existed  in  his  own  morbid  fancy.  He  was 
always  tormented  by  the  misgiving  that  his  pretty  little 
affectations  must  seem  to  others,  as  well  as  himself,  like 
sham  jewels  set  side  by  side  with  heirlooms.  The  very 
type  of  the  "set"  that  Horace  hated  and  envied  about 
equally  was  before  him  now — languid,  self-possessed, 
thoroughly  at  ease,  and  thoroughly  determined  to  abate 
not  an  inch  of  his  vantage-ground.  Overt  insult  or  coarse 
abuse  would  have  been  infinitely  easier  to  endure  than 
the  amenities  he  had  just  listened  to.  Kendall  vowed  to 
himself  that  his  adversary  should  not  carry  the  matter 
quite  so  smoothly  through ;  nevertheless,  he  answered 
with  touching  humility,  after  an  instant's  pause, — 

"My  wishes  would  never  change,  even  if  I  were  forced 
to  give  up  hope.  Do  I  understand  that  you  require  that 
Lady  Gwendoline  and  myself  should  be  strangers  hence- 
forth— strangers  always — and  that  this  can  never  be  al- 
tered ?  It  sounds  very,  very  hard ;  almost  too  hard." 

The  earl  drew  himself  up  ever  so  slightly,  and  the 
fashion  of  his  countenance  was  changed.  Even  now 
there  was  no  anger  in  his  eyes ;  but  the  softness  had  gone 
out  of  them  utterly. 

"  Unquestionably  you  may  understand  that  much,"  he 
said';  " but  you'll  understand  something  more  before  we 
part.  I  have  been  arguing  on  grounds  of  expediency  so 
far,  as  if  there  were  no  such  things  as  social  distinc- 
tions. As  the  argument  don't  seem  to.be  convincing, 
we'll  take  the  other  side  of  the  question — the  kidnapping 
side.  If  you  suppose  for  a  moment  that  I'm  going  to 
turn  that  poor  child  into  a  prisoner,  or  my  house  into  a 
jail,  to  keep  her  safe  from  yon,  you  labor  under  such  a 
mistake  as  few  men  make  twice  in  a  lifetime  You  have 
ample  warning  now ;  it  won't  be  repeated.  If,  after  this, 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  169 

there  comes  any  annoyance  from  you,  directly  or  indi- 
rectly, by  word,  deed,  or  letter — more  than  that,  if  I  hear 
of  your  making  a  good  story  out  of  any  folly  that  you 
may  have  entrapped  her  into  already — I'll  stop  ip — not  by 
fair  means,  but  by  foul.  Rather  a  hard  sentence  to  con- 
strue, isn't  it?  But  the  right  of  translation  is  reserved. 
We  live  in  the  midst  of  law  and  order,  of  course,  and  the 
Coventry  Act  has  been  a  dead  letter  this  long  time  past ; 
but,  if  they  were  communicative  down  at  Scotland-yard, 
they  could  tell  you  one  or  two  curious  stories  about 
'East-ending.'  I  shall  give  you  no  further  hints:  the 
unknown  is  always  the  most  terrible." 

Many  men,  finding  themselves  in  Kendall's  position, 
would  have  turned  the  tables  at  once  in  their  own  favor 
by  laughing  the  menace  to  scorn ;  but,  by  dint  of  making 
experiments  in  corpore  vili,  Lord  Daventry  had  acquired 
a  tolerably  sharp  insight  into  the  weaker  and  worse  side 
of  human  nature.  On  the  present  occasion  it  seemed  he 
had  gauged  very  accurately  the  character  with  which  he 
had  to  deal ;  and  his  bolt  was  not  shot  at  a  venture.  It 
was  evident  that  Kendall  was  thoroughly  frightened. 
His  clumsy  attempt  at  bluster  would  not  have  imposed 
on  a  child. 

"I — I'm  not  to  be  intimidated,"  he  said,  in  a  thick,  un- 
steady voice.  "Are  you  aware,  my  lord,  such  threats  are 
actionable  ?" 

"  Perfectly  aware,1'  the  other  replied,  placidly.  "  You 
can  lay  an  information  if  you  like ;  but  I  doubt  if  you'll 
get  any  magistrate  to  take  it.  I've  got  a  reputation  for 
good  temper,  and  I  haven't  been  in  a  quarrel  since  I  left 
school.  I  doubt  still  more  if  you  came  to  harm  hereafter 
— if  your  beauty  were  spoiled  in  a  street-row,  for  in- 
stance— whether  you'd  bring  me  in  as  accessory  before 
the  fact.  East-enders  are  too  well  paid  to  peach.  I  can 
spare  you  no  more  time,  I'm  sorry  to  say:  you  can  think 
over  all  this  at  your  leisure." 

A  man  bold  enough  to  set  the  earl's  warning  utterly  at 
naught  could  scarcely  have  failed  to  be  impressed  by  the 
contrast  between  his  debonnaire  manner  and  the  purport 
of  his  words.  Truculence  would  have  been  infinitely  less 
effective.  Such  a  contrast  might  have  been  seen  at  some 

15 


170  If  REARING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

of  the  banquets  in  the  wild  old  times,  where  none  wore 
garb  more  warlike  than  what  is  wrought  in  velvet,  mini- 
ver, or  lawn,  but  where,  if  a  guest  stirred  overhastily, 
an  ominous  rattle  would  have  been  heard,  and  gray  steel 
would  have  glimmered  under  rochet  or  robe  of  estate. 
There  was  an  awkward  pause.  Then  Horace  spoke  with 
some  faint  show  of  spirit:  it  was  like  the  last  melancholy 
ruffle  of  the  drums  when  the  garrison  of  a  surrendered  for- 
tress is  forming  to  march  out. 

"  I  have  no  wish  to  annoy  any  one,  or  to  thrust  my 
company  where  it  is  not  welcome.  I  would  have  said  as 
much  five  minutes  ago.  Nothing  I  have  done,  my  lord, 
justifies  such  language  as  you  have  seen  fit  to  use.  I  will 
pass  my  solemn  word  not  to  communicate  in  any  way 
with  Lady  Gwendoline  Marston  without  your  knowledge 
or  consent ;  and  I  need  hardly  say  that  her  name  shall 
never  suffer  through  me.  I  presume  this  will  satisfy 
you  ?" 

Without  going  deep  into  decimals,  it  would  be  hard  to 
set  down  the  precise  value  at  which  the  earl  estimated 
Horace  Kendall's  word  ;  but  he  thought  he  had  a  more 
material  security  against  any  future  breach  of  the  peace 
than  that  gentleman's  own  recognizances;  and  it  had 
always  been  his  policy  to  provide  the  broadest  of  bridges 
for  a  flying  foe.  "  Never  pen  'em,  if  you  can  help  it,"  he 
was  wont  to  say.  So  he  answered  with  edifying  gravity, 
just  as  if  he  were  accepting  the  most  substantial  of  guar- 
antees. 

"  Perfectly  satisfied.  And  now,  as  we  understand  each 
other  thoroughly,  and  I  happen  to  be  rather  "busy  to-day, 
I  think  I  shall  wish  you  a  very  good-morning." 

And  once  more  the  earl  lifted  his  hat.  The  other  re- 
turned the  salute  mechanically  without  looking  up ;  then 
he  stood  quite  still,  his  hands  crossed  before  him,  and 
resting  on  the  handle  of  his  walking-stick.  A  few  seconds 
later  Nina  passed  him  on  her  father's  arm,  and  her  piteous 
glance  was  unanswered,  even  if  it  was  noticed,  by  those 
sullen  eyes. 

"  What  did  you  say  to  him,  papa  ?"  the  girl  asked,  when 
they  had  gone  about  a  hundred  yards.  "  You  will  tell 
me,  I  know." 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  HI 

Her  lips  were  very  white,  but  they  scarcely  trembled 
at  all.  She  was  a  thorough  Marston ;  and  that  family 
had  a  knack  of  taking  their  punishment  quietly,  in  what- 
soever shape  it  might  descend. 

"  Well,  there's  very  little  to  tell,"  the  earl  answered,  in 
his  airy  way.  "  I  explained  to  Mr.  Kendall  that  there 
must  be  an  end  to  all  this  nonsense — utterly  an  end — and 
he  perfectly  agreed  with  me." 

"  He — perfectly — agreed — with  you  ?" 

The  dull,  heavy  syllables  dropped  out  one  by  one.  Then 
her  lips  were  pressed  tightly  together;  but  she  could  not 
keep  them  from  quivering  a  little  now. 

Raoul  Marston  was  not  devoid  of  natural  affection, 
though  he  seldom  went  out  of  his  way  to  display  it.  He 
felt  very  sorry  for  his  little  daughter,  and  very  loath  to  add 
to  her  pain.  It  cost  him  no  small  effort  to  answer  her 
cheerily. 

"  Of  course  he  agreed  with  me  ;  and  so  will  you,  my 
dear,  when  your  foolish  little  head  gets  straight  again. 
I  hope  it  won't  be  so  easily  turned  in  future,  or  we  shall 
have  to  send  you  back  to  the  school-room  and  have  that 
last  Gorgon  of  a  governess  back  again.  I'm  much  too  old 
to  turn  detective,  and  you're  too  young  to  be  turned  into 
a  prisoner  at  large.  Now  you'll  just  give  me  your  word 
that  there  shall  be  no  further  communication  between 
yourself  and  Mr.  Kendall  that  I  don't  sanction — it's  no 
more  than  he's  done  already — then  all  this  shall  rest  a 
secret  between  you  and  me.  I  sha'n't  even  tell  my  lady 
about  it." 

A  real  heroine  would  have  avowed  herself  willing  to 
be  incarcerated  there  and  then,  and  to  eat  the  bread-and- 
water  of  affliction  indefinitely,  rather  than  resign  her 
heart's  desires;  but  we  do  not  often  even  read  of  such  in 
the  romances  which  profess  to  mirror  modern  society, 
and  probably  neither  you  nor  I  ever  encountered  them 
in  the  flesh.  Nina  Marston  was  able  and  willing  to  bear 
up  her  full  share  of  the  burden  of  the  battle;  but,  now 
that  her  natural  ally  had  signed  terms  of  surrender  on 
his  own  account,  she  was  not  minded  to  fight  to  the 
death — alone.  It  may  be,  too,  that  one  of  the  misgiv- 
ings that  she  had  never  been  quite  able  to  smother,  as  to 


172  •     BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

the  real  character  of  the  man  for  whom  she  had  risked 
so  much  and  with  such  poor  return,  came  back  upon  her 
just  then.  Moreover,  you  will  remember  she  had  come 
to  the  trysting-place  that  morning  with  the  settled  pur- 
pose of  saying  "Good-by."  She  looked  up  bravely  in 
her  father's  face. 

"  Let  me  write  to  him — just  one  little  note — that  he 
may  not  think  me  cold  and  cruel,  and  then  I  will  give 
you  that  promise,  papa,  and  keep  it  too." 

Gwendoline  Marston's  parole  was  a  very  different 
thing  from  Horace  Kendall's.  A  strong-minded  parent 
would  assuredly  have  rejected  that  condition :  perhaps  it 
rather  strengthened  Lord  Daventry's  confidence. 

"  I  oughtn't  to  listen  to  such  a  thing,"  he  said,  half 
grumblingly.  "  I  feel  like  an  accomplice  as  it  is.  Well, 
you  may  write  just  that  once,  and  I  trust  you — do  you 
hear  me,  Nina? — I  trust  you  not  to  write  a  word  that 
either  you  or  I  need  be  ashamed  of  hereafter,  and  then 
all  this  shall  be  as  if  it  had  never  been.  But  there  won't 
be  an  end  of  it,  as  far  as  I'm  concerned,  if  I  see  you  look 
pale  and  moping." 

"  You  needn't  fear,"  she  said. 

Glancing  around  first,  to  see  that  nobody  was  near — 
he  was  exceeding  circumspect  in  such  matters — the  earl 
stooped  and  kissed  his  daughter's  brow.  If  the  compact 
had  been  duly  engrossed,  attested,  and  signed,  it  could 
not  have  been  more  effectually  sealed. 

That  same  evening  Nina  and  Avenel  met — in  a  crowd, 
of  course — but  there  was  space  and  leisure  enough  to 
serve  their  purpose. 

"  Well?"  Regy  asked,  lifting  those  expressive  brows  of 
his,  which  did  almost  as  much  service  as  Burleigh's  nod. 
There  was  bitterness  enough  still  clinging  about  the  girl's 
heart  to  make  her  feel  triumph  in  being  able  to  defy,  at 
all  events,  her  self-appointed  guardian. 

"Well?"  she  retorted;  "that  means  that  you  want  a 
full  and  correct  account  of  all  my  sayings  and  doings  to- 
day, on  pain  of  being  brought  before  the  judgment-seat 
if  I  refuse.  I  do  refuse,  then,  and  you  can  make  the 
best  or  worst  of  it!" 

Avenel  was  really  chagrined,  and  showed  it. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  173 

"  So  you  haven't  come  to  your  senses  yet  ?  And  I  so 
hoped  you  would.  I  must  speak  to  them  at  home,  then : 
God  knows  how  I  hate  it." 

He  looked  so  pained  that  Nina's  enmity  was  disarmed. 
He  had  meant  kindly  by  her  throughout,  after  all:  she 
knew  that. 

"No,  I've  nothing  to  tell  you,  Regy,"  she  said;  "but 
you  needn't  go  to  papa,  for  all  that.  He  knows  every- 
thing, or  nearly  everything;  for  he  came  up — quite  by 
chance,  I'm  certain — when  I  was  talking  to  him  this 
morning.  It's  all  over — quite  over.  Papa's  satisfied 
about  that,  so  I  suppose  you'll  be.  Don't  speak  of  it 
any  more,  please,  and  take  me  up-stairs  directly.  I 
wouldn't  miss  this  waltz  on  any  account.  I'm  just  in 
the  humor  for  dancing  to-night.  Can't  you  fancy  it?" 

And  so  the  first  romance  of  Gwendoline  Marston's  life 
died  and  was  buried — decently,  if  with  no  great  pomp  of 
funeral  honors.  Well,  when  on  such  sepulchers  there  is 
not  written 

Resurgam. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

"  A  THOROUGHLY  satisfactory  place/'  said  Vere  Alsager. 

A  better  epithet  could  not  have  been  applied  to  Kenlis 
Castle  and  its  belongings.  There  was  nothing  either  of 
savage  grandeur  or  soft  luxuriance  in  the  landscape ; 
but  no  one  would  have  thought  of  calling  it  tame,  and  it 
embraced  most  of  the  best  features  of  ordinary  Scotch 
scenery.  The  topmost  peak  of  the  long  hill-ranges, 
stretching  away  till  purple  faded  into  misty  blue,  was  far 
from  kissing  heaven ;  yet  the  traveling  of  them  was  no 
mean  test  of  wind  and  muscle.  The  pines  in  the  hang- 
ing woods  were  mere  dwarfs  compared  with  the  "  sha- 
dowy armies"  that  line  Norwegian  or  Alpine  heights; 
but  they  made  up  a  rich  background,  and  a  fence  withal, 
through  which  the  northeast  winds,  though  they  strove 
hard  and  often,  could  not  force  a  passage.  The  loch, 

15* 


174  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

widening  gradually  as  it  trended  seaward,  was  scarcely 
more  than  a  rifle-shot  across  over  against  the  castle ;  yet 
its  shores  were  broken  by  more  bays  and  promontories 
in  miniature  than  are  often  found  in  more  imposing  lakes ; 
and  in  calm  weather  you  felt  as  if  you  could  almost  cut 
out  the  shadows  of  birch  and  oak  resting  on  the  clear, 
deep  water. 

As  for'  the  castle  itself,  no  one  with  proper  ideas  of 
comfort  would  have  wished  to  add  a  cubit  to  its  size  or 
a  year  to  its  age.  Some  additions  to  the  original  fabric 
had  been  made  from  time  to  time — always  in  the  same 
solemn  granite,  that  looks  not  much  more  hoary  after  the 
lapse  of  a  century  than  when  fresh  from  the  quarrying. 
However,  for  two  generations,  at  least,  the  sound  of 
mason's  hammer  had  not  been  heard  there ;  and  the  gen- 
eral aspect  of  the  building  was  little  changed  since  Sir 
Dugald  Kenlis,  with  his  own  hands,  fixed  the  last  battle- 
ment of  the  central  tower. 

After  the  fall  of  the  leaf,  when  the  trees  were  bare, 
and  the  hill-sides  bleak,  and  the  loch  fretted  with  foam, 
the  castle  would  doubtless  look  somewhat  somber  and 
eerie.  At  such  a  season,  without  some  strong  antidote 
to  melancholy  or  morbid  fancies,  even  a  strong-minded 
skeptic  might  have  caught  himself  speculating,  oftener 
than  was  agreeable,  whether  it  were  absolutely  certain 
that  the  legend  of  the  Brown  Lady  was  such  an  idle 
tale.  For  Kenlis,  be  it  known,  possessed  a  ghost,  the 
existence  and  occasional  appearance  of  which  could  be 
attested  by  several  living  witnesses — chiefly  by  a  certain 
ancient  ex-housekeeper,  who,  in  a  cottage  just  without 
the  demesne-wall,  lived  in  much  ease  and  dignity  on  her 
pension  and  peculations.  A  pitiless  Presbyterian  was 
this  ancient  dame,  and — on  the  principle  of  truth  being 
generally  disagreeable — implicitly  to  be  believed. 

But,  with  autumn  weather  overhead,  and  wealth  of 
greenery  all  round,  there  was  no  excuse  for  such  vain 
imaginings;  and  there  was  justice  in  Blanche  Ramsay's 
self-reproaches  when  she  called  herself  ungrateful  and 
fanciful,  and  a  dozen  harder  names,  for  feeling  so  con- 
stantly out  of  spirits  there.  Her  first  impressions  of  the 
place  had  been  most  favorable,  and  these,  to  a  certain  • 


NESTLED  IN  A   COSY  NOOK 


Page  175 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  175 

extent,  had  not  worn  off.  She  liked  water,  and  wood, 
and  heather,  to  the  full  as  well  as  when  she  looked  on 
them  first,  and  while  in  the  air  she  was  happy  enough  in 
her  own  quiet  way ;  but  directly  she  came  in-doors  a 
heavy  weight  seemed  to  oppress  her  that  she  could  not 
shake  off,  try  as  she  would.  She  began  to  feel  dull  and 
chilly,  and  disinclined  to  talk  or  even  to  move  unneces- 
sarily. 

Very  clever  upholsterers,  with  carte  blanche  given 
them,  had  refurnished  the  castle,  and  few  appliances  of 
modern  luxury  were  wanting  there;  nevertheless,  the 
interior  was  certainly  somewhat  gloomy.  After  sunset, 
even  at  this  season,  Night  and  Echo  would  have  their 
way  in  the  long  corridors,  in  despite  of  frequent  sconces 
and  thick-piled  carpeting ;  and,  when  not  a  leaf  was 
stirring  outside,  a  breeze  seemed  always  soughing  among 
the  black  timber-work  of  the  vaulted  hall.  Yet  this  could 
not  account  for  it;  for  her  own  special  rooms,  looking  to 
the  south,  were  airy  and  lightsome  as  she  could  desire, 
and  she  felt  it  there  just  the  same.  To  be  sure,  all  her 
arrangements  hitherto  had  been  on  rather  a  tiny  scale ; 
and,  when  she  first  began  to  play  the  chatelaine,  it  was 
only  natural  that  she  should  feel  somewhat  overawed. 
Domestic  cares  or  anxieties  she  had  none ;  for  Ramsay 
had  no  small  economies,  and  would  just  as  soon  have 
thought  of  brushing  his  own  clothes  as  of  allowing  his 
wife  to  trouble  herself  with  any  matters  falling  within 
the  house-steward's  or  housekeeper's  province.  Perhaps 
it  might  have  been  better  if  Blanche  had  been  forced  to 
exert  herself  in  some  way  that  would  have  kept  her 
thoughts  busy  while  she  was  alone;  and  she  was  a  good 
deal  alone  at  first,  for  business,  chiefly  connected  with 
outlying  portions  of  the  estate,  had  accumulated  during 
Mark's  long  absence ;  and  during  the  week  following 
their  arrival  at  Kenlis  he  was  seldom  in-doors  between 
breakfast  and  dinner. 

On  one  of  these  afternoons,  Blanche  strolled  down  to 
the  loch-side,  and  nestled  herself,  with  her  novel,  into  a 
certain  cosy  nook  that  she  had  discovered  in  one  of  her 
earliest  rambles.  There  she  sat,  reading  and  day-dream- 
ing in  about  equal  proportions — for  the  book  rather 


176  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

bored  her  than  otherwise — till  she  was  startled  by  a 
rustling  in  the  birch-boughs  overhead  that  could  not  have 
been  caused  by  the  breeze,  for  the  water  at  her  feet  was 
smooth  as  steel.  Before  she  could  look  up,  Mark  had 
swung  himself  down  from  a  jutting  crag  above,  and 
dropped  lightly  on  the  sand  beside  her. 

"  So  this  is  your  notion  of  doing  the  honors  of  Kenlis, 
Bianchetta?  Don't  you  know  that  you  ought  to  be  sit- 
ting up^there  in  state  to  receive  visitors  ?  These  are  the 
very  first  that  have  called  since  we  came  into  our  king- 
dom. I've  no  doubt  the  worthy  creatures  came  famish- 
ing with  curiosity  to  see  what  Mrs.  Ramsay  was  like; 
and,  lo,  they  are  sent  empty  away!" 

He  threw  a  couple  of  cards  into  her  lap,  whereon 
was  inscribed 


CAPTAIN  IRVING. 

Miss  IRVING. 
Drumour. 


"I'm  a  true  penitent,"  Blanche  said.  "If  you'll  be- 
lieve me,  the  possibility  of  a  morning  visit  never  once 
crossed  my  mind.  Conceive  there  being  a  neighborhood 
somewhere  beyond  our  hills!  I  wonder  what  these 
people  are  like,  Mark;  the  name  sounds  rather  nice, 
doesn't  it?" 

"Don't  found  pleasant  conclusions. on  that,"  Ramsay 
said,  with  a  laugh,  as  he  settled  himself  on  the  rocky 
ledge  on  which  his  wife  was  reclining.  "  I  know  nothing 
about  the  Irvings, — I've  a  sort  of  notion  they  were  away 
when  I  was  here  last  autumn;  at  all  events,  they  didn't 
deign  to  notice  graceless  grouse-shooters, — but  I  dare 
say  my  fancy  portrait  won't  be  half  a  bad  likeness.  The 
father — a  regular  half-pay  '  heavy,'  with  an  ancient  War- 
Office  grievance,  always  ready  to  be  brought  in  when  he 
has  said  his  say  about  Kirk  and  Session — shoots  with 
one  muzzle-loader  over  slow  setters,  and  won't  allow 
that  any  one  but  himself  can  tie  a  fly.  The  daughter — 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  If 7 

or  sister,  as  the  case  may  be — of  the  '  bitter  bar-maid ' 
type,  gaunt  and  rather  grim,  wears  good  serviceable 
boots  and  a  tartan  petticoat,  and  writes  short  tales  with 
long  morals  for  Family  Journals.  Before  you  have  been 
ten  minutes  in  her  company,  she  will  find  out  something 
about  your  '  state  of  grace,'  Blanche,  depend  upon  it." 

Mrs.  Kamsay  shuddered  slightly. 

"And  you  call  that  portrait-painting?  I  wonder  what 
your  caricatures  would  be  like.  Now,  I've  no  doubt 
that  they  are  just  what  you  said  at  first — very  worthy 
creatures.  It  was  a  great  stretch  of  charity  to  drive  out 
at  all  on  such  a  sultry  afternoon.  We  shall  appreciate 
it  better  when  we  return  their  visit,  I  dare  say." 

"I  rather  admire  that  'we.'  Is  it  absolutely  neces- 
sary that  I  should  take  part  in  the  ceremony  ?  I  think 
I  must  stay  at  home  and  look  after  Alsager,  who  comes 
to-night,  you  know.  It  wouldn't  be  civil  to  leave  him  to 
his  own  devices  quite  so  soon  " 

"How  truly  considerate!"  Blanche  said,  demurely. 
"  It's  quite  refreshing  in  these  selfish  days  to  find  any 
one  so  alive  to  hospitable  duties.  Now,  I  think  that 
both  you  and  Mr.  Alsager,  if  you  made  a  great  effort, 
might  possibly  survive  the  pilgrimage  to  Drumour.  If 
you  can't,  I  think  I  shall  defer  mine  till  the  Brancepeths 
come  next  week.  I'd  give  anything  to  hear  Queenie 
questioned  as  to  her  state  of  grace." 

"  We'll,  we'll  see  about  it,"  Mark  replied,  picking  him- 
self up  leisurely.  "  I  haven't  the  slightest  doubt,  when 
it  comes  to  the  point,  you'H  manage  it  your  own  way. 
Suppose  we  stroll  slowly  home ;  it's  too  hot  to  hurry,  and 
it  must  be  close  on  dressing-time.  These  long  rides  give 
one  a  savage  appetite,  and  Isidor's  entrees  are  too  clever 
to  be  kept  waiting." 

It  was  on  the  following  morning  that  Alsager  made  the 
remark  recorded  above,  while  he  and  his  host  were  smok- 
ing the  after-breakfast  cigar  on  the  broad  terrace- walk  that 
ran  along  all  the  western  and  southern  sides  of  the  castle. 

"  Yes,  it's  a  liveable  place  enough,"  Ramsay  acqui- 
esced ;  "  but  I'm  happy  to  say  there's  plenty  of  room  for 
improvement  still.  I  don't  seem  to  care  for  things  that 
are  absolutely  perfect." 


118    ,  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

"  No,  I  shouldn't  think  you  did,"  the  other  retorted. 
"  You're  not  exactly  a '  character,'  Mark ;  but  I  never  saw 
any  one  quite  like  you,  all  the  same.  Now,  if  I'd  been 
making  both  ends  of  a  pittance  meet,  so  long — that's  just 
what  a  thousand  a  year  is  to  a  man  of  your  tastes  and 
habits — and  found  myself  one  fine  morning  a  Carabas,  I 
couldn't  for  the  life  of  me  take  it  so  coolly  as  you  do.  I 
think  I  should  always  be  calling  my  neighbors  to  rejoice 
with  me,  or  making  myself  ridiculous  in  one  way  or  other, 
for  at  least  another  twelvemonth  to  come." 

"  The  neighbors  come  without  being  called — at  least, 
a  couple  of  them  have,"  Mark  said;  "I'll  tell  you  about 
that  presently,  though.  But  you  are  wrong  there;  I  don't 
take  what's  happened  all  as  a  matter  of  course ;  indeed, 
I  wonder  at  it  as  much  as  I  can  wonder  at  anything." 

"Ah,  it  never  rains  but  it  pours !"  the  other  went  on. 
"I'm  not  at  all  sure  that  your  last  stroke  of  luck  wasn't 
as  good  as  the  first.  You  don't  think  I'd  flatter  you  at 
this  time  of  day ;  but  I  don't  know  when  I've  seen  any- 
thing so  nice  as  Mrs.  Ramsay.  You  ought  to  be  too 
happy,  Mark,  that's  the  truth  of  it.  If  I  were  you,  I'd 
contrive  to  drop  something  very  valuable  into  the  loch 
occasionally,  on  that  Greek  tyrant's  principle  of  throwing 
a  sop  to  Fortune." 

"  Polycrates,  you  mean.  It  wasn't  such  a  very  bright 
idea,  either.  They  crucified  him  soon  afterward — served 
him  quite  right,  too — for  fancying  that  he  could  satisfy 
the  envy  of  gods  with  a  jeweler's  toy.  What  would  you 
have  me  throw  away,  Vere  ?  Not  my  wife,  I  presume  ? 
She's  about  the  only  portable  treasure  I  should  care  very 
much  about  losing — just  now." 

Alsager  was  not  more  malicious  or  envious  than  his 
fellows ;  nevertheless,  as  he  repeated  the  last  words  to 
himself,  he  laughed  a  little  inwardly.  While  the  world 
lasts,  he  whose  garden  is  barren  of  herb,  fruit,  or  flower 
will  not  seldom  console  himself  with  the  thought  that  a 
canker-worm  may  be  coiled  round  the  root  of  his  neigh- 
bor's gourd. 

"You  were  mentioning  some  neighbors  just  now," 
Vere  asked,  after  smoking  silently  a  minute  or  two. 
"  What  of  them  ?" 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  179 

"  Well,  a  Captain  and  Miss  Irving  left  their  cards  yes- 
terday, and  it's  a  question  of  returning  their  call.  Morn- 
ing-visits in  desert-life  are  too  absurd  ;  but  Blanche  is  so 
plaintive  about  going  alone,  that  I  hardly  like  to  send 
her.  She's  cruelly  out  of  her  element  with  stiff,  uncouth 
people,  such  as  these  are  certain  to  turn  out.  Would  you 
mind  very  much  going  over  to-morrow  afternoon  ?  We 
can  make  up  a  scratch  team  for  the  break ;  and,  as  they 
want  putting  together,  they'd  just  suit  you.  It's  a  fair, 
hard  road,  I  believe,  and  goes  through  some  good  scenery. " 

"  I  don't  want  bribing,"  the  other  said;  "  I  rather  like 
the  idea  than  not.  How  do  you  know  that  these  are 
such  rough  diamonds  ?  The  country  is  fairly  civilized 
hereabouts,  and  the  name  don't  sound  uncouthly.  There 
was  an  Irving  made  a  great  stir  in  Florence  just  before 
our  time.  Though  domestic  duties  are  very  elastic  out 
there,  I  don't  think  he  could  have  been  a  family  man. 
To  be  sure,  '  Miss'  stands  for  sister  as  well  as  daughter ; 
but  it's  long  odds  against  it's  being  the  same.  We'll  see 
Mrs.  Ramsay  through  it  to-morrow,  anyhow.  We  shall 
have  a  rare  sail  this  evening  if  the  breeze  holds — a  lead- 
ing wind  both  ways — and  we're  sure  to  pick  up  some- 
thing, '  trailing.' " 

The  drive  next  day  quite  answered  Ramsay's  warranty. 
The  ground  was  not  such  as  most  people  would  have  se- 
lected for  the  trial  of  a  scratch  team,  but  Alsager  was  a 
thorough  workman  of  the  "  fast"  school.  He  hustled  his 
horses  a  bit  too  much,  some  critics  said ;  but  he  never  let 
them  get  out  of  his  hand.  Even  the  stubborn  near  leader 
was  fain  to  realize  at  last  that  he  had  not  come  out  for 
his  own  amusement  that  day,  and  settled  down  doggedly 
to  his  collar  up  the  last  steep  slope,  in  the  valley  beyond 
which  lay  Drumour. 

An  exclamation  of  pleased  surprise  broke  from  Mrs. 
Ramsay  as  they  rose  the  crest  of  the  hill. 

"Do  pull  up  for  an  instant,  if -it's  possible,  Mr.  Alsa- 
ger; I  didn't  reckon  on  such  a  view  as  this." 

"  Nothing  easier,"  Vere  said,  as  he  brought  his  team 
up  with  a  long,  steady  pull ;  "they'll  be  all  the  better  for 
a  breathing.  That's  worth  looking  at,  certainly." 

It  was  one  of  the  bits  of  scenerv  not  uncommon  in 


180  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

Scotland — which,  lying  out  of  the  beaten  track,  are  better 
known  to  stalkers  than  to  tourists — where  Nature  has 
shown  what  she  can  do  when  she  sets  her  hand  in  earnest 
to  landscape-gardening.  It  would  not  have  been  easy 
to  improve  on  the  grouping  of  cliff,  wood,  and  water  at 
Drumour;  though  everything  was  on  a  miniature  scale — 
from  the  loch,  that  looked  as  if  no  gust  had  ever  ruffled 
it  rudely,  to  the  velvet  lawn,  on  which  a  few  gorgeous 
flower-beds  lay  like  jewels.  The  house  itself  was  in  per- 
fect keeping  with  the  rest — a  low,  irregular  building, 
abounding  in  nooks  and  gables,  and  mantled  in  creepers 
to  the  base  of  its  quaint,  twisted  chimneys. 

"  Do  half-pay  officers  usually  live  in  such  quarters, 
Mark  ?"  Mrs.  Ramsay  asked,  rather  triumphantly.  And 
her  husband  was  fain  to  confess  that  his  fancy  portrait 
might  not  turn  out  such  a  faithful  one,  after  all. 

A  few  minutes  later  they  had  drawn  up  before  the 
porch,  and  had  been  informed  by  a  very  correct-looking 
man-servant  that  Miss  Irving  was  at  home,  and  her 
father  within  call.  Blanche's  own  boudoir  at  Kenlis 
was  not  more  dainty  to  look  upon  than  the  drawing-room 
into  which  the  visitors  were  shown ;  yet  the  furniture 
was  not  specially  costly,  and,  setting  aside  some  rare 
china,  the  nick-nacks  scattered  about  were  more  valuable 
for  their  workmanship  than  for  their  material.  And  the 
mistress  thereof — was  she  of  "the  bitter  bar-maid"  type  ? 
You  shall  judge. 

A  tall,  very  tall  figure,  and  superbly  developed ;  yet  so 
supple  and  delicately  moulded  that  even  a  rival  would 
not  have  ventured  to  speak  of  it  as  "  fine;"  glossy  nut- 
brown  hair,  rippling  low  over  a  broad  Egyptian  forehead ; 
:%  gray  opaline  eyes,  rather  deeply  set  under  strong  arched 
brows,  shaded  by  lashes  much  darker  than  the  hair ;  a 
mouth  too  large  to  please  an  artist,  but  to  ordinary  mor- 
tals, with  its  firm  scarlet  lips,  and  teeth  faultless  in  shape 
and  color,  tempting  past  the  telling ;  features  of  the  sub- 
dued aquiline;  a  complexion  pale  on  the  surface,  with 
subtle,  faint  rose-tints  beneath,  when  you  looked  more 
narrowlv.  Such  was  the  signalement  of  Alice  Irving, 
xt.  22.  " 

In  the  fashion  of  her  dress  there  was  nothing  appar- 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  181 

ently  beyond  the  scope  of  ordinary  waiting-maid's  skill ; 
but  I  doubt  if  the  high-priest  of  the  fashionable  temple 
in  the  Street  of  Peace,  after  an  hour's  devout  meditation, 
could  have  ordained  anything  more  suggestive  than  the 
modest  foulard,  which  might  have  been  chosen  to  match 
her  eyes.  Her  beauty  was  of  that  peculiar  stamp  which 
is  certain  to  provoke  enmity  and  envy,  howsoever  meekly 
it  be  used,  simply  because  other  types,  differing  ever  so 
much  betwixt  themselves,  suffer  almost  equally  in  com- 
parison. Unluckily,  it  happens  that  women  endowed 
with  this  perilous  pre-emineuce  seldom  do  use  it  wisely 
or  well.  Nothing  could  be  quieter  than  her  voice  and 
manner;  but,  before  her  few  simple  words  of  welcome 
were  spoken,  Alsager,  whose  ears  seldom  deceived  him, 
thought  within  himself  that  it  would  be  worth  walking 
more  miles  than  they  had  driven  to  hear  that  woman  sing. 
Mrs.  Ramsay,  whose  presence  of  mind  was  equal  to 
most  social  emergencies,  was  fairly  startled  by  the  appa- 
rition. She  thought,  perhaps,  like  Christabel  in  the  wood, 

'Twas  fearful  there  to  see 
A  lady  richly  clad  as  she — 

Beautiful  exceedingly. 

Mark  himself  took  the  whole  thing  in  his  wonted  matter- 
of-course  way,  and  did  not  even  answer  a  meaning  side- 
glance  from  Alsager. 

"Yes,  Drumour  is  charming,  even  in  winter,"  Miss 
Irving  said,  in  answer  to  an  admiring  remark  of  Blanche's ; 
"  at  least,  I  find  it  so ;  but  at  this  season  every  one  is  fas- 
cinated with  it.  I  have  seen  little  of  it  lately ;  we've  been 
abroad  the  last  four  years,  and  the  place  was  let." 

"Traveling  abroad?"  Mark  struck  in.  "I  have  been 
such  a  wanderer  myself  that  it  is  strange  we  have  never 
met.  We  never  did  meet,  I'm  quite  sure." 

A  faint  smile  showed  that  the  subtle  flattery  of  the  last 
words  was  not  lost  upon  Alice  Irving. 

"  Not  so  strange,"  she  said,  "  when  you  hear  that  our 
head-quarters  were  at  Darmstadt,  and  that  I,  at  least,  was 
almost  always  a  fixture  there.  It's  not  an  out-of-the-way 
place,  certainly,  and  birds  of  passage  often  perch  there 
for  a  single  night ;  but  I  can  hardly  conceive  any  one  lin- 

16 


182  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

gering  longer,  without  strong  and  sufficient  reasons,  such 
as  ours  were.  Everything  and  everybody  is  so  deadly- 
lively,  from  the  Grand  Duke  downwards ;  and  when  one 
gets  thoroughly  torpid,  even  Shakspearein  German  won't 
wake  one  up." 

"  Well,  I  hope  you  are  quite  established  here  now," 
Mrs.  Ramsay  said,  kindly  ;  "  and  that's  not  a  very  disin- 
terested hope.  Kenlis  can't  have  many  such  neighbors, 
and  within  such  easy  distance,  too;  the  drive  is  a  mere 
nothing." 

"I'm  sure  I  hope  so,"  Alice  answered;  "but  we're  the 
most  uncertain  people.  I  think  papa  rather  piques  him- 
self on  making  no  plans  beyond  the  week.  Ah,  here  he 
comes  ;  he  will  be  so  glad  not  to  have  missed  you!" 

There  was  little,  if  any,  family  likeness  betwixt  father 
and  daughter.  Captain  Irving's  figure  was  wonderfully 
proportioned,  and  his  features  nearly  faultless ;  but  it  was 
diminutive  perfection,  and  the  general  effeminacy  of  his 
appearance  was  heightened  by  an  evident  coxcombry  of 
attire.  He  was  the  sort  of  man  that  you  could  fancy,  in 
case  of  shipwreck,  appearing  without  a  trace  of  disorder 
half  an  hour  after  he  had  been  cast  on  a  desert  shore. 
He  doffed  a  broad-leafed  hat  of  Panama  straw  as  he  en: 
tered  through  one  of  the  open  French  windows ;  and,  as 
he  crossed  the  light,  it  was  plain  to  see  that  either  Time 
had  dealt  very  gently  with  his  glossy  curls,  or  that  Art 
had  balked  the  old  Avenger. 

If  there  was  little  outward  resemblance  betwixt  father 
and  daughter,  their  voices,  at  least,  were  remarkably  alike. 
Both  had  the  same  rich  flexible  intonations ;  and  you  could 
fancy  Captain  Irving's  white  taper  fingers  straying  over 
the  keys  of  an  instrument  and  working  wonderful  things 
thereon.  His  manner  was  very  quiet  and  gentle,  though 
there  was  no  lack  of  warmth  in  his  welcome ;  and  he  set- 
tled himself  down  by  Mrs.  Ramsay  with  the  matter-of- 
course  ease  of  a  man  who,  rightly  or  wrongly,  considers 
he  has  a  prescriptive  right  to  the  attention  of  a  pretty 
woman. 

Altogether,  it  was  a  pleasant  quintette ;  and  the  con- 
versation, such  as  it  was,  did  not  flag  a  whit,  till  it  was 
full  time  to  order  the  break  round. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  183 

"  I  suppose  it's  no  use  asking  you  to  shoot  with  usjust 
yet  ?"  Mark  said  to  his  host,  as  he  rose  to  depart.  "  A 
man's  own  birds  have  the  first  claim  on  him  for  a  good 
week  after  the  12th.  But  we  shall  be  too  happy,  when- 
ever you  can  spare  a  day — or,  better  still,  two  days — 
sleeping  at  Kenlis,  of  course;  and  perhaps  Miss  Irving 
might  be  tempted  to  accompany  you." 

"A  thousand  thanks, "the  other  answered.  "  I  should 
like  it  of  all  things  ;  but — it's  a  very  humiliating  confes- 
sion— I  haven't  fired  a  shot-gun  for  years.  A  little  feeble 
fly-fishing  is  my  best  attempt  at  fulfilling  the  Whole  Duty 
of  a  Hielandman  ;  and  all  my  ground,  except  one  beat 
that  supplies  the  house,  is  let.  I'll  drive  Alice  over  one 
morning,  though,  in  time  to  escort  Mrs.  Ramsay,  if  she 
chooses,  to  meet  you  at  lunch.  Those  are  the  only  circum- 
stances under  which  I  ever  take  the  hill.  We'll  stay  that 
night  with  pleasure.  How  time  passes !  I  was  an  ensign 
and  lieutenant  when  I  slept  at  Kenlis  last." 

And  so  it  was  settled. 

A  vote  of  confidence  in  Drumour  and  its  tenants  was 
passed  unanimously  by  the  committee  of  three  sitting  in 
the  break ;  but  the  homeward  was  more  silent  than  the 
outward  drive  had  been,  and  before  the  hanging  woods  of 
Keulis  were  in  sight,  one  of  those  fits  of  depression  that 
had  vexed  and  puzzled  her  so  much  of  late  began  to  creep 
over  Blanche  Ramsay.  They  would  not  have  seemed  so 
unaccountable,  if  she  had  thoroughly  believed  in  presenti- 
ments. But  her  life  hitherto  had  been  so  free  from  storms 
that  she  had  not  learned  to  read  the  meaning  of  the  inno- 
cent-looking white  flecks  in  a  cloudless  sky ;  and  had 
never  been  forced  to  realize  that  a  small  inner  voice  often- 
times speaks  more  soothly  than  all  the  prophets  that,  since 
the  time  of  the  Tishbite,  ever  have  threatened  "  Woe !" 


184  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  men  were  scarcely  alone  together  till  they  settled 
down  to  their  evening  smoke.  Then  said  Alsager, — 

"  It's  the  Florentine  celebrity,  after  all,  you  may  depend 
upon  it.  '  Never  shoots  with  a  shot-gun' — that's  likely 
enough ;  but  I  dare  say  he  could  give  either  you  or  me  a 
lesson  with  hair-triggers.  His  pistol-practice  used  to  be 
something  miraculous,  if  I  remember  right ;  and  it  pulled 
him  through  one  or  two  awkward  dilemmas.  It's  an 
agreeable  surprise  altogether,  isn't  it  ?" 

"  Very  agreeable,  particularly  if  the  rest  of  the  neigh- 
borhood comes  up  to  the  first  sample.  That  isn't  likely, 
though.  I've  seen  the  father  before — it's  a  sort  of  face 
that  dwells  on  one's  memory ;  it  was  at  Baden,  three 
years  ago ;  he  was  playing  fearfully  high,  with  the  luck 
dead  against  him.  Navaroff  used  to  point  him  out  as 
the  only  Englishman  who  could  lose  in  real  Russian 
fashion.  I  quite  understand  their  living  at  Darmstadt 
now  :  it's  within  hail  of  every  hell  in  Germany." 

"  How  about  the  daughter's  face  ?  Don't  you  think 
that  would  be  likely  to  stay  by  one  too  ?  There  has  been, 
or  will  be,  the  frame-work  of  a  sensation-piece  in  that 
young  woman's  history,  unless  I'm  much  mistaken." 

"  Too  thoroughbred  for  the  stage,  I  should  say,"  the 
other  answered  ;  "  and  Darmstadt  isn't  exactly  a  dramatic 
place.  It's  odd  that  she  hasn't  married,  though." 

"  Odder  still  that  she  should  not  have  got  into  some 
scrape  of  one  sort  or  another.  There's  a  quiet  devilry  in 
those  eyes  that  ought  to  take  her  far." 

Ramsay  shrugged  his  shoulders  somewhat  impatiently: 

"  I'm  not  going  to  argue  the  point.  You're  a  scientific 
oculist,  Vere ;  but  even  science  is  wrong  sometimes.  I 
can  see  nothing  in  Miss  Irving  but  a  highly  ornamental 
young  person,  likely  to  make  a  pleasant  companion  for 
Blanche  whenever  we're  alone  here." 


BLANCHE  EILERSLIE'S  ENDING.  185 

"  That  of  course,"  Alsager  said,  with  his  low  laugh — 
"a  perfect  godsend  for  Mrs.  Ramsay  in  every  way." 

And  all  the  while  he  thought  within  himself,  half  com- 
passionately, that  it  would  have  been  better  for  his  hostess, 
a  thousandfold,  to  have  found  at  Drumour  a  hard-featured, 
harsh-voiced  virago  than  such  a  one  as  Alice  Irving. 

Two  days  later  the  Kenlis  party  was  completed  for  the 
present  by  the  advent  of  three  fresh  guests — the  Brance- 
peths  and  Colonel  Vane;  and  the  following  morning, 
being  the  Feast  of  S.  Tetrao,  four  guns  were  at  work 
betimes,  pairing  off  on  separate  beats.  Mr.  Brancepeth 
was  a  steady,  methodical  performer,  but  could  not  stand 
being  hurried  or  flurried,  and,  setting  jealousy  aside,  had 
a  wholesome  horror  of  long-striding  companions  like 
Alsager  and  Vane.  With  his  host  he  felt  a  comfortable 
certainty  of  being  allowed  to  go  his  own  pace  and  pick  his 
own  shots  ;  for  Ramsay,  like  many  others  who  have  gone 
in  heavily  for  the  big  game,  was  by  no  means  keen  in  the 
pursuit  of  feathered  fowl,  though  he  shot  in  remarkably 
good  form.  When  they  ceased  firing,  the  leisurely  couple 
were  found  to  have  contributed  rather  more  than  their 
quota  to  a  fair  mixed  bag  of  over  two  hundred  head 

There  was  no  luncheon-party  that  first  day;  for  La 
Reine  Gaillarde  was  just  tired  enough  by  her  long  jour- 
ney to  incline  rather  to  a  quiet  lionizing  of  Blanche's  new 
home  than  to  the  climbing  of  a  hill-side  on  pony-back, 
even  with  the  chance  of  seeing  a  certain  stalwart  figure 
standing  in  relief  against  the  sky-line.  She  and  Vane 
were  ancient  acquaintances,  and  might  have  been  fami- 
liar friends — to  put  it  mildly — if  in  those  days  the 
colonel  of  the  Princess's  Own  had  had  eyes  or  ears  for 
the  service  of  any  but  Mrs.  Ellerslie.  It  was  not  in 
Laura  Brancepeth  to  bear  malice,  much  less  to  pine  over 
any  discomfiture ;  especially  if,  as  in  this  case,  she  had 
never  seriously  addressed  herself  to  the  conquest.  Cer- 
tainly, she  had  no  need  to  go  out  into  the  highways  and 
byways  to  recruit  the  ranks  of  her  adherents.  Neverthe- 
less, her  black  eyes  flashed  with  pleasure  when  she  heard, 
on  her  arrival,  who  was  expected  hourly.  Vereker  was 
about  the  last  person  she  had  reckoned  on  meeting  at 
Kenlis,  at  least  so.  soon.  Of  one  thin'j  she  felt  sure — that 

1G* 


186  BREAKING   A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

MarK  had  invited  him  there,  and  was  thoroughly  safe  in 
doing  so;  and,  further,  that  if  Vane  should  show  signs  of 
better  taste  than  heretofore,  Blanche  would  not  be  likely 
to  interfere  with  their  innocent  amusements. 

There  was  a  good  deal  worth  looking  at  within-doors 
at  Kenlis  Castle;  but  before  luncheon  Laura  Brancepeth 
had  rambled  through  the  whole  of  it  alone,  and  had  pene- 
trated into  more  passages  and  recesses  than  Blanche  her- 
self had  ever  discovered.  After  luncheon,  the  two  women 
loitered  together  through  the  gardens  and  wood-paths 
beyond,  till  they  ensconced  themselves  at  last  in  that 
tempting  nook  by  the  loch-side  whereof  mention  has  before 
been  made. 

"I  declare,  it's  the  most  perfect  place  I  ever  saw,"  La 
Reine  said,  in  her  hearty,  genuine  way.  "  This  is  only 
the  second  time  I've  been  over  the  border,  it  is  true ;  but 
I  don't  think  it  could  be  matched  in  Scotland.  Blanche, 
don't  you  love  it  already?" 

"Yes,  it's  quite  charming,"  Blanche  answered,  after  a 
second's  hesitation,  "  and  I  like  it,  of  course — who  could 
help  liking  it?  But  somehow  I  don't  think  it  quite  suits 
me,  Queenie.  You  can't  imagine  how  languid  and  de- 
pressed I've  felt  at  times,  particularly  when  I'm  alone. 
I've  been  a  good  deal  alone  since  we  came  down.  There 
were  an  infinity  of  things  for  Mark  to  look  into  all  over 
the  estate ;  and  there's  a  terrible  creature — a  factor  they 
call  him — who  won't  be  denied.  Perhaps  the  air  is  rather 
too  relaxing." 

"Absurd,"  the  other  retorted.  "  The  air's  simply  fault- 
less. It  has  given  me  a  fabulous  appetite  already." 

Even  while  she  spoke  a  light  breeze  ruffled  the  bright 
water  at  their  feet ;  and  the  veriest  hypochondriac  must 
have  acknowledged  gratefully  the  briny  freshness  it 
brought  from  the  open  sea. 

"Mark  says  just  the  same  thing,"  Mrs.  Ramsay  an- 
swered, with  a  slight  sigh,  "afd^ou  are  both  right,  I'm 
certain.  I  haven't  an  excuse  for  moping  either,  now 
you're  come.  Indeed,  I  feel  ever  so  much  better  since 
yesterday.  We'll  take  their  lunch  out  to  the  hill  to-mor- 
row. There  are  plenty  of  available  ponies,  and  you'll 
enjoy  the  scramble.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  the  Irvings 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  187 

drove  over  in  time  to  go  with  us.  They're  our  nearest 
neighbors — the  only  ones,  indeed,  that  have  given  signs 
of  their  existence — quite  a  trouvaille  in  such  a  wild  coun- 
try. The  father  looks  like  a  statuette  of  white  Dresden, 
and  the  daughter — well,  I  won't  describe  her,  Queenie ; 
but  I  think  you  will  be  surprised." 

"0, 1  do  hope  they'll  come,"  Lady  Laura  said,  eagerly. 
"  Fancy  lighting  on  a  pair  of  Phoenixes  so  far  north  !  It's 
a  wonder  that  none  of  you  mentioned  the  female  bird,  at 
all  events,  sooner." 

"I  had  so  many  things  to  talk  about,  I  suppose,"  Mrs. 
Ramsay  said,  blushing  a  little.  "It's  dangerous  to  rest 
too  much  on  first  impressions  ;  but  I  wish  I  was  as  sure 
of  fine  weather  to-morrow  as  I  am  of  your  being  just  as 
favorably  impressed  *with  the  Drumour  people  as  we 
were." 

Then  they  fell  to  talking  of  other  matters,  interesting 
to  themselves,  but  of  no  moment  to  the  world  in  general. 

The  next  day  was  one  of  those  that  Scotland  occa- 
sionally produces  to  confute  the  sulky  Southrons  who 

assert  that  "there's  no  climate  there,  only  d d  bad 

weather."  The  air  was  so  clear  that  with  a  good  glass 
you  might  almost  have  counted  the  heather-sprays  where 
they  cut  the  sky-line.  There  was  just  breeze  enough  from 
the  northwest  to  prevent  sultriness  and  to  help  the  set- 
ters, without  any  of  the  gusts  or  flaws  that  make  the 
packs  lie  uneasily  and  carry  them  when  once  on  the  wing 
far  out  of  bounds.  There  was  firing  enough  to  satisfy  a 
glutton  on  both  beats  that  morning;  and  the  luck  or  skill 
on  either  side  was  so  nearly  level  that  no  man's  appe- 
tite was  spoiled  either  by  self-upbraiding  or  envy  of  his 
fellow.  Alsager  halted  for  a  second  on  the  crest  over- 
looking the  hollow  where  lunch  was  already  preparing — 
the  other  party  were  half-way  down  the  opposite  brae. 

"Drumour  is  to  the  front,  you  see"  (there  had  been 
speculation  on  this  point  thd  previous  evening).  "  I  wish 
we  had  a  photographer  here — with  a  painter's  eye,  of 
course,  to  throw  in  color  afterward." 

In  truth,  the  group  beneath  them  was  worth  repro- 
ducing. The  rich  heather — crimson  rather  than  purple 
just  here — toned  down,  instead  of  contrasting  with,  the 


188  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

bright  hues  of  the  kirtles,  peeping  out  below  upper-skirts 
kilted  a  la  Lindsay.  The  soberer  tints  were  supplied  by 
the  plaids  on  which  the  women  reclined,  and  the  neutral 
gray  of  Captain  Irving's  shooting  suit.  He  leaned  against 
a  rock  a  little  in  the  background,  in  precisely  the  attitude 
that  a  sculptor  would  have  chosen  as  best  adapted  to  dis- 
play the  points  of  his  slight,  graceful  figure. 

The  luncheon,  of  course,  was  a  success,  for — putting 
the  Irvings  aside,  who  evidently  came  determined  to  be 
pleased — everybody  had  more  or  less  sufficient  reason  for 
being  in  special  good  humor.  To  begin  with — seventy 
brace  of  clean-killed  birds,  with  scarcely  a  "  cheeper" 
among  them,  is  a  fair  forenoon's  work  for  men  shooting 
for  their  own  amusement,  with  no  idea  of  newspaper  re- 
nown or  the  puffing  of  their  moor.  Mr.  Brancepeth,  having 
differed  in  opinion  from  the  head-keeper  as  to  the  best 
way  of  beating  the  ground,  had  not  only  carried  his  point, 
but  afterward  proved  himself  to  be  thoroughly  in  the 
right,  to  the  conviction,  if  not  satisfaction,  even  of  the 
stubborn  official.  Lady  Laura,  after  some  sharp  badinage 
at  breakfast,  had  backed  Alsager  against  Vane  for  a  fair 
stake  in  gloves,  and  was  now  rejoicing  over  having  landed 
her  bet  by  the  very  short  head  of  a  single  bird.  Her 
champion  to  a  certain  extent  went  shares  in  the  triumph. 
As  for  Yereker,  he  was  thinking  how  much  pleasanter  it 
was  to  lose  in  this  fashion  than  to  win — even  with  the 
probability  of  being  paid — at  Vincennes  or  La  Marche, 
and  how  differently  sounded  Laura  Brancepeth's  healthy 
merriment  from  a  certain  hard,  cruel  laugh  that  he  hoped 
to  hear  never  again. 

The  last  two  months  had  wrought  a  wonderful  change 
in  him,  outwardly  no  less  than  inwardly.  At  his  worst, 
he  had  never  altogether  lost  his  taste  for  the  field-sports 
among  which  he  had  been  born  and  bred;  and  he  came 
back  to  them  now  with  a  keener  zest  than  ever.  His 
face  would  never  look  otherwise  now  than  battered  and 
worn;  but  the  haggard  fierceness  which  had  deformed  it 
was  there  no  longer;  and  it  was  now  quite  possible  to 
believe  that  those  who  had  known  him  long  ago  had  not 
overrated  his  personal  advantages.  In  many  respects  he 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  189 

had  waxed  wiser  of  late,  notably  in  this  one.  He  could 
eat  of  Mark  Ramsay's  bread  and  salt  with  a  clear  con- 
science ;  for  he  coveted  his  wife  no  more.  On  that  night 
at  the  Bouffes  there  was  worked  a  cure — sharp,  complete, 
and  lasting.  The  ex-dragoon's  code  of  morality  was  rather 
vague;  but  he  had  his  own  notions  concerning  equity, 
notwithstanding.  He  felt,  somehow,  that  the  Ramsays 
had  held  out  their  hands  to  help  him  shoreward,  when 
others  would  have  passed  by  and  left  him  wallowing  in 
the  slough;  and,  since  then,  the  idea  of  troubling  their 
domestic  peace  had  never  once  crossed  his  mind.  He 
stood  quite  firm  on  the  friendly  footing  now.  When  pas- 
sion such  as  his  is  once  slain  outright,  it  passes  the  skill 
of  sorcery  itself  to  put  life  again  into  the  evil  dead. 

Blanche  herself  was,  perhaps,  in  better  spirits  that 
morning  than  she  had  been  since  she  lunched  under  the 
sandstone  rocks  of  Fontainebleau.  The  keen,  pure  mount- 
ain air  had  produced  a  tonic  effect  already.  Also,  she 
felt  somewhat  elated  at  having  accomplished  a  formidable 
feat  successfully ;  for  she  was  a  timid  horsewoman,  and, 
though  she  kept  her  tremors  to  herself,  had  seen  great 
fear  in  the  beginning  of  the  ascent.  But  misgiving 
lapsed  gradually  into  implicit  confidence  in  the  sure- 
footed beast  that  bore  her ;  she  began  to  think  that  it  was 
not  so  absolutely  necessary  she  should  always  stay 
moping  at  home  when  her  husband  rode  over  the  hill; 
and  this  in  itself  was  enough  to  make  her  happy. 

The  special  cause  of  Mark's  contentment  would  not 
be  so  easy  to  define  ;  but  that  he  was  satisfied  with  the 
general  aspect  of  things  was  very  clear.  From  his  wel- 
come of  the  Irvings,  you  would  scarcely  have  guessed 
that  their  acquaintance  was  but  four  days  old. 

Altogether  a  cheerier  repast  is  not  often  partaken  of ; 
and  an  hour  was  nearly  up  before  Mr.  Brancepeth — who 
in  his  amusements'  never  lost  sight  of  a  stern  sense  of 
duty — thought  of  looking  at  his  watch  meaningly. 

"Yes,  you're  quite  right  to  call  '  Time,' "  Ramsay  said, 
answering  the  other's  glance  of  appeal ;  "  but  it  so  hap- 
pens that  we  needn't  hurry.  Cameron  wants  us  to  try  a 
drive,  you  know.  Some  of  the  men  are  left  back  with  the 
flags  ;  but  it'll  take  him  nearly  half  an  hour  to  get  his 


190  BREAKING' A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

beaters  in  line.  He  has  shown  me  where  to  post  the 
guns  ;  it  won't  take  us  ten  minutes  to  get  there  " 

"How  lucky !"  Lady  Laura  cried  ;  "  it's  the  very  thing 
I  wanted  to  see.  I'd  rather  look  at  a  partridge-drive 
than  a  '  hot  corner'  any  day ;  and  this  must  be  twice  as 
exciting.  We  sha'n't  be  in  your  way,  Mr.  Ramsay,  if 
we  sit  where  we  are  told  as  still  as  mice.  Henry  will  go 
bail  for  my  good  behavior,  I  know." 

Mr.  Brancepeth  smiled  sedately. 

"  You  couldn't  be  very  mouse-like  under  any  circum- 
stances, I'm  afraid,  Laura;  but  I've  never  yet  seen  you 
spoil  sport." 

"  You  won't  be  the  least  in  the  way,"  Mark  answered ; 
"indeed,  to  speak  the  truth,  the  drive  was  organized  as 
much  for  your  amusement  as  for  ours.  It  isn't  a  long 
pull  either  up  to  the  stand;  but  it's  rather  steep  in 
places." 

"  Beyond  Punch's  powers,  I'm  afraid,"  Blanche  inter- 
rupted, "and  so  beyond  mine.  I  never  intend  to  part 
company ;  1  don't  feel  safe  anywhere  on  the  hill,  as  yet, 
off  his  back.  As  for  Queenie,  she's  a  perfect  Anne  of 
Geierstein;  and  I  think  Miss  Irving  is  nearly  as  brave." 

"  I've  quite  forgotten  my  mountaineering,"  Alice  said ; 
"  but  I'm  not  in  the  least  tired,  and  I  own  I  should  like 
to  see  the  drive  ;  yet  it  seems  so  selfish  to  leave  you  here 
alone.  Perhaps  you  won't  be  alone,  though  ;  for,  as  far 
as  I  can  see,  papa  looks  too  comfortable  to  move  just 

yet." 

"  Infinitely  too  comfortable,  my  child,"  Captain  Irving 
said,  serenely.  "  I  wouldn't  climb  a  hundred  feet  higher 
to  see  a  drive  of  golden  eagles.  I  can't  promise  to  amuse 
Mrs.  Ramsay ;  b\it  I  promise  to  take  all  care  of  her  till 
you  return:  I  suppose  nothing  more  terrible  than  a  hill- 
fox  is  likely  to  come  near  us." 

The  rest  of  the  party  set  off,  making  for  the  head  of 
the  hollow.  It  was  a  steep  and  broken  ascent,  but  no- 
where an  absolute  escalade ;  and — with  the  exception  of 
Mr.  Brancepeth,  who  plodded  onward  slowly  and  soberly, 
taking  a  line  of  his  own — not  one  of  the  climbers  was 
fairly  out  of  breath  when  they  reached  a  broad  neck  of 
table-land,  with  higher  ground  on  either  side,  about  the 


BLANCHE  ELLERSL'IE'S  ENDING.  191 

center  of  which  the  guns  were  to  be  posted.  There  had 
been  built  across  here  a  rude  stone  wall,  about  breast- 
high,  with  loop-holes  through  which  the  birds  could  be 
marked  some  sixty  yards  ahead.  When  the  four  men  had 
aligned  themselves  under  this  at  regular  distances,  they 
nearly  covered  the  pass.  Brancepeth  and  Vane  had  the 
midmost  stands,  and  to  the  latter  of  these  went  La  Reine 
Gaillarde.  She  was  going  double  or  quits  of  all  her  win- 
nings on  the  event  of  this  drive,  and  chose,  she  said,  to 
see  with  her  own  eyes  that  the  colonel  shot  fair,  without 
claiming  other  people's  birds.  The  demoiselle  seemed  to 
be  hesitating  under  whose  protection  she  should  place 
herself,  when  Ramsay  said, — 

"  Will  you  come  to  my  stand,  Miss  Irving  ?  You  won't 
see  such  good  practice  as  if  you  were  at  Alsager's,  for  my 
hand  is  rather  out  for  this  work;  but  I  suppose  I'm 
morally  responsible  for  your  safety  till  I  bring  you  back 
to  your  father." 

Judging  from  Alice's  face.,  the  arrangement  seemed  to 
her  also  the  most  natural  one.  Neither  did  Vere  Alsager 
look  a  whit  discontented,  as  he  moved  away  to  his  post; 
indeed,  he  laughed  a  little,  as  he  muttered  to  himself, — 

"Moral  responsibility! — that's  rather  a  neat  way  of 
putting  it.  There's  no  story  in  those  eyes,  is  there, 
Mark?  I  wonder  if  you'll  say  as  much  to-morrow.  It 
must  have  come  sooner  or  later;  but  it's  hard  lines  on 
the  other  that  it  should  come  so  soon,  d — d  hard!" 

And  Vere  bit  off  the  end  of  a  cigar  with  vicious  em- 
phasis; but  a  minute  later  he  was  smoking  tranquilly, 
and  listening  with  all  his  ears  for  the  first  "  Mark  over." 

"  You  needn't  be  a  mouse  just  yet,"  Ramsay  said,  as 
his  companion  seated  herself  on  a  broad  flat  stone;  "the 
beaters  can  hardly  have  got  round.  And  this  is  your 
first  experience  of  grouse-driving,  I  believe?" 

"  My  first  of  any  kind  of  shooting.  I've  never  yet  been 
close  to  a  gun  when  it  was  tired:  so  if  I  start  you  must 
not  be  too  scandalized.  I'll  promise  not  to  scream." 

"  No,  you  won't  scream,"  he  said.  "  I  fancy  your 
nerves  don't  often  fail  you.  It'll  be  rather  deafening  at 
first,  I'm  afraid ;  but  you'll  soon  get  steady  under  fire." 

"  One  soon  gets  used  to  most  things,"  she  said,  with 


192  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

an  odd  sort  of  smile.  And  then  there  was  silence ;  for  a 
shout,  barely  audible,  gave  warning  that  the  drive  had 
begun. 

A  few  seconds  later,  even  Alice's  inexperienced  ears 
caught  a  whirr  and  whistle  of  wings. 

"  They're  coming  our  line,"  Mark  whispered,  peering 
through  his  loop-hole.  "  Shall  I  shoot  this  time?" 

Her  eyes  flashed  eagerly. 

"  Shoot?     Of  course  !     How  can  you  ask  me?" 

Eleven  grouse  came  sailing  low  over  the  neck,  right 
before  the  wind,  scarcely  swaying  their  pinions,  though 
they  were  at  top  speed.  When  they  were  within  fifty 
yards  or  so,  Mark  showed  his  head  and  shoulders  over 
the  wall.  The  wary  old  cock  who  led  the  pack,  having 
no  time  to  swerve,  towered  upward  with  a  startled  cry; 
but  the  best  part  of  an  ounce  of  No.  5  breasted  him  as  he 
rose,  and  he  left  his  life  in  the  air,  though  the  impetus  of 
flight  carried  him  within  a  fathom  of  the  wall.  Mark  was 
equally  lucky  with  his  second  barrel — an  easy  cross-shot 
to  the  left. 

"A  good  beginning,"  he  said,  smiling — not  so  much  at 
his  own  success  as  at  his  companion's  satisfaction,  for 
Alice  fairly  clapped  her  hands  in  triumph, — "and  you 
never  even  started,  I  do  believe." 

"No;  I — I  forgot  to  be  frightened,"  she  said,  half 
penitently. 

"  Well,  mind  you  don't  remember  it  next  time.  There 
are  more  coming ;  but  to  the  center  guns.  Ah !  I  think 
Lady  Laura  is  not  quite  so  mouse-like  as — you  are.  I've 
no  doubt  she's  accountable  for  Vane's  only  getting  one 
barrel  in,  and  that  when  they  had  passed  him." 

For  some  moments  afterward,  and  indeed  till  the 
beaters  came  up,  the  firing  was  so  sharp  all  along  the 
line  that  there  was  no  leisure  for  talking.  Out  of  twenty- 
six  grouse  gathered  there  and  then,  besides  three  more 
stone  dead  just  below  the  brow,  Alsager — as  Ramsay 
had  predicted — claimed  the  largest  share.  So  La  Reine 
landed  her  paroli,  though  Vane  submitted  with  a  laugh- 
ing protest. 

"I  do  admire  your  idea  of  'seeing  fair,'  Lady  Laura. 
How  on  earth  do  you  expect  a  man  to  shoot,  when  some 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  193 

one  always  offers  to  back  the  bird  just  as  he's  covering 
it  ?  It's  much  more  nervous  work  than  standing  oppo- 
site the  pigeon-traps  with  the  Ring  behind  you." 

"You're  very  ungrateful,"  she  retorted;  "you  ought 
to  thank  me  for  furnishing  you  with  excuses  for  all  those 
misses.  Pearl-grays,  six  and  three-quarters,  mind ;  and 
I  have  a  weakness  for  Melnotte." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I'd  better  pay  and  look  pleasant," 
the  colonel  said,  resignedly.  "I  only  hope  I  shall  live 
to  see  them  worn  out ;  but  I  decline  to  plunge  any 
more." 

Then  they  descended  again  into  the  hollow,  where  Mrs. 
Ramsay  and  Irving  were  reclining  contentedly ;  and  the 
non-shooting  members  of  the  luncheon-party  started  off 
homeward.  Mark  looked  after  them  rather  wistfully.  If 
he  had  followed  his  own  inclination,  he  certainly  would 
have  struck  work  there  and  then  ;  but  he  had  a  certain 
conscience  in  these  matters,  and  felt  himself  bound  to  see 
Mr.  Brancepeth  through  the  day.  That  methodical  per- 
son had  a  great  horror  of  any  alteration  in  the  pro- 
gramme, and  would  have  considered  himself  more  than 
shabbily  treated  if  he  had  been  left  to  finish  their  ap- 
pointed beat  alone. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  them,  Queenie  ?"  Mrs.  Ram- 
say asked,  as  the  two  women  came  down-stairs  together, 
after  changing  their  walking-dress.  "Are  they  not  quite 
as  clever  and  agreeable  as  you  expected  ?" 

"Rather  more  so,"  the  other  replied;  "but  I'm  net 
quite  so  wrapped  up  in  them  as  you  all  seem  to  be.  I 
don't  know  how  it  is,  but  I  can't  look  at  either  of  them 
without  thinking  of  the  old  Scotch  proverb,  'Fair  and 
false.'  There's  too  much  gloss  about  the  father  quite  to 
please  me  ;  and  the  daughter — handsome  as  a  picture,  I 
admit  —  is  rather  too  much  like  one's  idea  of  Cleo- 
patra." 

"  Don't  be  cynical,"  Blanche  interrupted ;  "  it  isn't 
like  you.  I  dare  say  they  are  just  as  honest  as  humdrum 
people,  though  they  have  much  more  to  say  for  them- 
selves. I  was  quite  sorry  when  you  all  came  back  this 
afternoon.  You  have  no  idea  how  amusing  Captain 
Irving  can  be  when  he  chooses." 
K  17 


194  BREAKING  A  BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

"  Well,  you'd  better  go  on  with  the  flirtation,"  La 
Reine  rejoined;  "meanwhile  I'll  submit  to  be  fascinated 
by  the  Signorina." 

Fascinated  Lady  Laura  was  not ;  but  before  dressing- 
time  came  she  accused  herself  more  than  once  of  lack  of 
charity  in  her  first  impressions  of  Alice  Irving. 

It  was  in  the  evening,  however,  that  Drumour  achieved 
its  crowning  success.  All  the  Kenlis  party  were  more  or 
less  musically  inclined,  though  perhaps  only  Alsager  was 
thoroughly  able  to  appreciate  the  vocal  powers  of  the 
father  and  daughter.  One  duet  especially  roused  Mr. 
Brancepeth  himself  into  something  like  enthusiasm.  The 
great  drawing-room  was  a  trying  place  for  singing;  but 
their  voices,  single  or  blended,  seemed  to  fill  it  without 
an  effort  or  the  straining  of  a  note,  and  a  marvelous 
softness  pervaded  the  rich  volume  of  sound.  Lady 
Laura  and  Vane  were  as  vehement  in  their  admiration 
as  Blanche  herself  could  desire;  and  Alsager  —  himself 
no  mean  performer,  and  quite  aware  of  the  fact — did 
homage  in  his  own  fashion  to  superior  talent;  for, 
though  he  never  left  the  piano  after  the  Irvings  came  to 
it,  he  could  not  himself  be  prevailed  upon  to  utter  a  note. 
During  all  the  singing  Mark  sat  a  little  apart,  shading 
his  face  with  his  hand,  and,  when  it  was  over,  paid  his 
acknowledgments  in  courteous  commonplaces.  But  their 
glances  met  for  two  seconds  —  no  more  —  as  he  wished 
Alice  good-night;  and  the  lady's  rest  was  broken  by 
no  misgivings  as  to  the  completeness  of  her  triumph. 
She  had  been  complimented  on  her  voice  ere  now  by 
those  whose  favorable  verdict  carried  with  it  fame  ;  but 
Ramsay's  look  flattered  her  as  she  had  never  been  flat- 
tered before. 

There  are  vanities  and  vanities,  you  see.  Even  in  her 
failings  Alice  might  have  boasted — without  any  special 
cause  for  thankfulness — that  she  was  not  as  other  women. 

The  smoking-room  held  four  that  night;  for  Mr.  Brance- 
peth, living  by  rule,  seldom  allowed  his  feet  to  stray  into 
such  unhallowed  places.  As  for  Captain  Irving,  he 
"never  touched  tobacco,"  he  said,  "but,  keeping  regu- 
larly late  hours,  did  not  choose  to  risk  his  night's  rest 
by  seeking  it  too  early."  Before  long  the  conversation 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  195 

turned    upon    play,   apropos   of    some   recent    Parisian 
scandal. 

"I've  given  up  heavy  wagering,"  Irving  said,  "or 
rather  it's  given  me  up.  But  I  own  I've  missed  my  pic- 
quet  dreadfully  since  I've  settled  down  here.  I  could 
have  taught  Alice,  for  she's  quick  enough  to  learn  any- 
thing; but  I'm  too  old  to  play  for  love.  I  don't  think 
I  should  ever  have  left  Darmstadt  if  Bernsdorff  hadn't 
died.  You  never  knew  him,  I  dare  say.  He  had  a  per- 
fect passion  for  the  game;  and  he  won  two  hundred 
points  of  me  —  we  played  the  Russian  rules  —  within 
twenty-four  hours  of  his  end.  He  was  the.  Grand  Duke's 
favorite  chamberlain,  and  a  great  loss  to  society  in  every 
way ;  but  I  doubt  if  any  one  regretted  him  as  much  as  I 
did.  I've  never  slept  'on  both  ears'  since.  I  should  be 
quite  happy  at  Drumour  if  I  had  my  partie." 

"Then  I  hope  you'll  be  tempted  to  come  oftener  to 
Kenlis,"  Mark  answered,  ringing  the  bell  at  his  elbow; 
"you'll  always  find  it  here,  and  the  least  we  can  do  is  to 
try  to  amuse  you  after  the  treat  you  gave  us  this  even- 
ing. It's  my  favorite  game,  and  I  used  to  fancy  myself 
at  it ;  I've  no  doubt  you'll  take  the  conceit  out  of  me." 

To  Alsager  the  change  on  Irving's  face  was  quite  a 
study  ;  and  Vane  too — not  near  so  keen  a  physiognomist 
— remarked  on  it  afterward.  Listless  languor  had  given 
place  to  hungry  eagerness ;  yet,  to  do  the  man  justice,  it 
was  not  the  eagerness  of  greed,  but  rather  that  of  the 
thoroughpaced  gambler,  to  whom  losing  at  play  is  the 
second  pleasure  in  life.  Not  less  strange  was  it  to  mark 
how,  by  mere  force  of  habit,  while  the  cards  were  being 
dealt,  his  face  settled  down  again  into  statuesque  calm- 
ness— only  the  eyes  glittered  still. 

The  match,  to  all  outward  appearances,  was  so  even 
as  would  have  interested  both  if  they  had  been  playing 
for  stamps  instead  of  sovereigns.  It  was  only  a  run  of 
luck  just  at  last  that  brought  off  Mark  the  winner  of  the 
odd  game. 

"I'm  not  a  Croesus,"  Captain  Irving  observed,  as  he 
opened  his  purse;  "  but  I  should  not  grudge  losing  that, 
every  night  for  a  week  to  come.  You  play,  I  think,  a 
shade  better  than  Bernsdorff." 


196  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;     OR, 

The  other  shook  his  head. 

"  I  doubt  if  I  could  quite  hold  my  own  iu  the  long  run; 
though  I  do  think,  between  us,  it's  very  much  a  question 
of  cards." 

"  I  hope  he  will  sleep  well,"  Mark  observed,  as  the 
door  closed  behind  Captain  Irving.  "  That  estimable 
person  has  ministered  more  to  my  amusement  to-night 
than  any  one  has  done  for  years  past;  I'm  rather  tired, 
though.  What  do  you  say  to  a  regular  driving  day  to- 
morrow ?  The  women  would  like  it." 

"Two  of  them  would,  no  doubt,"  Alsager  answered, 
"  and  I  dare  say  Mrs.  Ramsay  wouldn't  mind.  So  the 
'  moral  responsibility'  wasn't  too  much  for  you  to-day, 
Mark?  I'm  glad  of  that.  Considering  how  short  a 
time  you've  been  head  of  a  household,  you  take  pretty 
kindly  to  your  burdens.  What  an  organ  she  has,  though! 
I  quite  forget  to  look  at  the  woman,  in  listening  to  the 
voice." 

"Ah!  you're  a  fanatico,"  Mark  said,  not  noticing  the 
thrust  at  himself ;  "  that  makes  all  the  difference.  Good- 
night, and  musical  dreams." 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE  women  certainly  did  like  it  when  the  programme 
for  the  day  was  propounded  at  breakfast.  The  ground 
to  be  driven  lay  nearly  opposite  the  castle,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  loch-,  and  it  was  easily  to  be  reached  by  the 
help  of  the  ponies  sent  round  to  await  them  on  the  farther 
shore.  Nevertheless,  Captain  Jrving  elected  to  stay  at 
home,  declaring  himself  not  equal  even  to  that  exertion. 
He  had  rather  better  health  than  the  majority  of  his  com- 
peers; t»ut  his  maladive  appearance  was  always  a  conve- 
nient excuse  for  laziness.  The  weather  was  perfect  atrain, 
and  before,  noon  the  guns,  "with  the  fair  spirits,  their 
ministers,"  were  duly  posted  under  stands  built  up  of  turf 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  197 

and  heather.  Two  of  the  pairs  were  the  same  as  yester- 
day ;  Mrs.  Ramsay  was  under  Alsager's  charge. 

"  It  rather  went  against  my  conscience  to  leave  your 
father  at  home  alone,"  Mark  observed  to  his  companion 
as  he  made  a  seat  for  her  on  a  folded  plaid,  "particularly 
after  his  good  nature  last  night.  It's  not  often  you  find 
a  man  of  his  age  so  willing  to  exert  himself  for  other 
people's  pleasure.  It  was  so  perfectly  evident,  too,  that 
there  was  no  vanity  about  it." 

"No,  papa  isn't  vain,"  Alice  assented.  Considering 
his  habitual  courtesy,  it  was  odd  that  Mark  still  so  per- 
sisted in  ignoring  her  share  in  the  performance,  and  odder 
still  that  the  omission  did  not  seem  to  disappoint  her  in 
the  least.  "And  he's  generally  very  good-natured,  though 
rather  inclined  to  be  capricious.  I  have  known  him  re- 
fuse to  sing  a  note  when  most  persons  would  have  been 
glad  of  the  occasion  for  display,  and  where  requests  passed 
for  commands.  He  was  disinterested,  too,  last  night,  for 
he  could  scarcely  have  reckoned  on  his  reward  so  soon. 
I  never  asked  him  a  question,  I  assure  you ;  but  I  guessed 
by  his  face  this  morning  that  he  had  his  picquet  before 
going  to  bed.  Was  I  wrong  ?" 

"Perfectly  right.  And  perhaps  you  guessed,  too,  that 
he  left  off  a  good  winner?" 

"  No ;  my  gifts  don't  go  so  far.  I  have  asked  the  ques- 
tion of  bis  face  often  ;  it  has  very  seldom  answered  me. 
I  am  afraid  he  would  not  be  less  grateful  to  you — or  who- 
ever it  Avas  that  made  up  his  partie — if  he  got  up  a  loser. 
It  was  you,  I  feel  certain." 

"Right  again,"  Mark  answered;  "but  why  do  you  say 
afraid  ?  I  rather  admire  the  grand  seigneur  way  of  accept- 
ing bad  luck,  you  know." 

She  smiled  very  sadly,  .and  her  head  drooped  a  little. 

"I  have  good  reason  to  say  ' afraid.'  We  are  too  poor 
to  play  the  grand  seigneur  either  at  home  or  abroad. 
I'm  not  a  bit  ashamed  of  speaking  frankly  to  you,  Mr. 
Ramsay,  though  I  suppose  I  ought  to  be.  I  have  no  idea 
what  stakes  you  were  playing  for  last  night — nominal 
ones,  I  dare  say.  It  always  begins  so." 

Her  head  drooped  lower  and  lower. 

"  I  don't  ask  you  not  to  tempt  him  to  play  deep— I'm 
17* 


198  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

sure  you  wouldn't  do  that — but  I  do  beseech  you — oh, 
so  earnestly! — not  to  be  tempted  yourself.  Can  you 
promise  me  this  ?  You  can't  imagine  what  a  rest  it  is 
to  lie  down  at  night  not  in  fear  and  trembling  ;  and  I  did 
hope  for  that  rest  here." 

"  I  would  promise  a  much  harder  thing,"  Mark  answered, 
bending  over  her.  "  We  only  played  for  sovereigns  last 
night :  the  stakes  shall  not  be  increased  if  I  can  help  it ; 
and  I  can  help  it,  I  feel  sure.  I  always  used  to  avoid  high 
play  under  my  own  roof,  even  in  the  old  days ;  and  Cap- 
tain Irving  can't  have  much  worse  gambling-sins  to 
answer  for  than  I,  though  he  may  have  more." 

Her  face  as  she  lifted  it  was  grave  still,  though  not  sad. 

"  There  are  very,  very  few  like  him.  I  would  almost 
as  soon — don't  ask  me  why — that  he  should  lose  as  win 
heavily.  Gambling  runs  in  the  blood,  like  any  other  mad- 
ness, I  suppose;  it  runs  in  ours,  assuredly.  If  it  had  not 
been  for  the  law  of  entail,  Drumour  would  have  passed 
away  from  us  long,  long  ago.  Did  you  ever  read,  or  hear 
of,  that  horrible  story  of  a  man  setting  his  wife's  honor 
on  a  cast  when  he  had  no  other  stake  left,  and  losing — 
and  paying  ?  Duncan  Irving  did  all  this  when  he  was  in 
exile  in  Holland  with  Charles  II.,  and  added  a  double 
murder  to  the  shame.  The  direct  line  ends  with  us  ;  for 
my  father  has  no  child  living  but  me:  so  perhaps  the  curse 
will  be  abated.  Let  us  drop  the  subject,  please.  I'm  so 
glad  I  had  courage  to  speak  out ;  I  shall  feel  quite  safe 
now  both  at  Kenlis  and  Drumour." 

"Yes,  you  are  quite  safe  with  me,"  Mark  said,  very 
quietly ;  nevertheless,  there  was  something  in  his  look 
that  brought  the  color  out  brightly  on  Alice's  cheek,  and 
sent  her  eyes  earthward  again. 

Neither,  so  long  as  converse  was  permissible,  was 
there  silence  in  the  other  stands,  save  in  that  one  where 
Mr.  Brancepeth  sat  with  his  loader — he  still  stuck  to  his 
favorite  Purdey's — a  saturnine  Scot,  whose  garrulity  was 
limited  to  "  Mark  right,"  "  Mark  left,"  or  a  gruff  "  Gude 
wark,"  after  a  peculiarly  creditable  shot. 

La  Reine  Gaillarde  and  her  cavalier  were  in  great 
amity  this  morning,  and  were  talking  of  old  Marlshire 
times  quite  confidentially. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  199 

"  What  an  utter  fool  I  made  of  myself,"  the  colonel 
confessed,  with  a  pleasant  frankness,  "and  what  a  nice 
example  I  set  my  youngsters !  It  must  have  been  great 
fun  for  you  all  to  watch  me,  though.  Do  you  remember 
the  meet  at  Pinkerton  Wood  ?" 

"  I  should  think  I  did  remember  it.  You  quite  spoiled 
our  hunting  that  day — Blanche's,  I  mean,  and  mine — 
with  the  fright  you  gave  us.  I  have  never  looked  at  the 
Swarlc  since  without  a  sort  of  shiver.  What  became  of 
The  Plunger,  by-the-by  ?" 

"  He  went  up  to  Tattersall's  with  the  rest,"  Vane 
answered;  "and  I  got  a  plaintive  note  soon  afterward 
from  the  man  who  bought  him,  asking  me  how  he  was  to 
ride  him.  Cool,  that,  wasn't  it  ?  I  wrote  back  that  the 
brute  only  wanted  humoring,  but  I  didn't  give  my  horses 
characters  for  anything  but  soundness.  So  she  was 
frightened  a  little  ?  I  shouldn't  have  thought  it  likely. 
Well,  I  bear  no  malice,  God  knows,  to  her,  or  her  husband 
either.  Perhaps  it  was  for  the  best,  after  all.  If  she  had 
said  '  Yes' instead  of  'No,'  I  should  never  have  suited 
her  as  he  seems  to  do.  They  are  perfectly  happy ;  don't 
you  think  so  ?" 

"  Wonderfully  happy,  if  it  only  lasts,"  she  answered, 
rather  gravely.  "  So  you  actually  did  propose  ?  I  always 
guessed  as  much,  though  I  never  could  make  that  little 
wretch  own  it.  It's  pleasant  to  be  able  to  talk  over  old 
times  comfortably  ;  but  we  mustn't  chatter  any  more.  If 
you  don't  shoot  quite  up  to  the  mark,  it  won't  be  any  fault 
of  mine  :  my  sympathies  are  against  the  birds  to-day." 

For  the  first  time  since  his  arrival,  Alsager  found  him- 
self alone  with  his  hostess.  He  was  rather  glad  of  the 
opportunity  of  improving  their  acquaintance ;  for  his  first 
liking  for  Blanche  had  much  strengthened  of  late,  and  he 
fancied  that  the  favorable  impression  was  to  a  certain 
extent  mutual. 

"  Wouldn't  that  make  a  good  sketch  ?"  Vere  observed, 
after  they  had  duly  complimented  the  weather. 

He  pointed  to  a  ravine  on  their  right,  widening  into  a 
glen  as  it  trended  down  to  the  loch,  so  that  a  broad  strip 
of  clear  water  filled  up  the  background. 

"  I  was  just  thinking  so,"  she  returned;  "but  I  can 


200  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

only  admire  points  of  view,  unluckily.  It's  very  different 
with  you,  Mr.  Alsager.  I'm  sure  you  have  not  left  your 
paints  and  brushes  behind  you  in  the  South." 

"  They  would  be  of  little  use  here.  I,  too,  can  only 
admire  still  life.  I  never  could  accomplish  a  landscape 
worth  the  framing,  and  I  can't  afford  to  spoil  canvas.  I 
can  manage  a  recognizable  portrait  now  and  then,  for 
I've  a  sort  of  knack  of  catching  expressions  that  please 
me,  though  I  may  fail  in  bringing  out  the  features.  Do 
you  know,  Mrs.  Ramsay,  I  thought  of  asking  you  to 
indulge  me  with  a  sitting  on  the  first  hopelessly  bad  day  ? 
The  rain-gauge  will  come  to  its  level  before  long,  depend 
upon  it." 

"  I'm  very  much  flattered,  of  course,"  Blanche  answered; 
"  but  it  would  be  rather  a  waste  of  talent  while  such  a 
much  better  model  is  available." 

Alsager  smiled  as  he  followed  her  glance  till  it  rested 
on  a  figure  in  the  extreme  left-hand  stand. 

"You're  quite  right;  it  is  a  superb  model  for  a  master 
du  genre. — Boulanger,  for  instance,  would  go  leagues  to 
paint  her.  But  I'm  not  a  master — only  a  mild  amateur, 
with  more  than  my  share  of  professional  whims.  I  said, 
if  you  remember,  that  I  could  sometimes  catch  expres- 
sions that  please  me.  I'm  not  quite  sure  that  Miss 
Irving's  comes  into  that  category." 

The  wonder  in  her  face  was  not  affected. 

"  What  can  you  find  to  cavil  at?  I  was  quite  struck  by 
the  sweetness  of  her  expression  the  first  time  we  saw  her ; 
and  it  is  a  beauty  that  grows  on  you." 

"Very  sweet,"  he  said,  still  smiling,  "and  perhaps  a 
little — ever  so  little — subtle.  At  any  rate,  it's  beyond 
me.  I  could  listen  to  her — or,  better  still,  to  her  and  her 
father — for  hours  with  my  eyes  shut;  and  it  would  be 
ungrateful  to  caricature  her.  So,  if  you  don't  condescend 
to  sit  to  me,  my  brushes  will  lie  idle — no  great  loss,  either, 
to  the  world  in  general." 

Much  of  the  coquettish  leaven  that  had  made  Blanche 
Ellerslie  so  dangerous  lingered  still  in  Blanche  Ramsay. 
She  was  pleased  by  the  preference,  assuredly,  and  showed 
this  ;  but  the  next  minute  her  glance  reverted  somewhat 
wistfully  to  that  group  on  the  left. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLI&S  ENDING.  201 

"Artists  are  not  to  be  contradicted,"  she  said;  "so  1 
suppose  you  must  have  your  way;  but  I  think  that  even 
Mark  would  pity  your  taste.  He  must  admire  her,  I'm 
certain,  though  he's  never  fairly  owned  it  yet." 

It  was  a  question,  though  not  a  direct  one,  and  so  Vere 
interpreted  it.  For  a  little  while  he  doubted  within  him- 
self whether  those  words  were  spoken  in  simplicity  or  with 
a  purpose  of  entrapping  him.  Taking  the  charitable  view 
at  last,  he  answered,  quite  frankly, — 

"  Yes,  I  fancy  he  must  admire  her;  though  I  only  speak 
in  conjecture.  Mark  is  not  expansive  at  any  time,  and  on 
the  present  occasion  I  haven't  detected  even  a  spark  of 
enthusiasm.  He  called  me  a  fanatic  only  last  night  for 
speaking  of  Miss  Irving's  voice — well,  not  a  bit  more 
highly  than  it  deserved." 

There  was  a  long  pause.    Then  Blanche  said,  softly, — 

"  You  are  such  a  very,  very  old  friend  of  Mark's,  Mr. 
Alsager,  that  I  can  hardly  realize  you  and  I  were  strangers 
six  months  ago.  That  is  why  I  am  goingto  ask  you  some- 
thing that  you  need  not  answer  unless  you  like.  Do  you 
think  I  make  him  really — thoroughly — happy  ?" 

Vere  Alsager  had  little  charity  for  his  kind  to  spare  ; 
but  if,  without  power  to  help  or  warn,  he  had  been  forced 
to  watch  the  hungry  sea  swallowing  up,  inch  by  inch,  the 
rock  on  which  a  fair  woman  lay  sleeping,  it  is  likely  that 
he  would  have  been  affected  by  some  such  thrill  of  com- 
passion as  he  felt  then,  looking  down  on  Blanche  Ram- 
say. Nevertheless,  he  answered  as  cheerfully  as  if  he 
saw  no  peril  in  the  future. 

"Our  oldest  friends  don't  carry  windows  in  their 
breasts;  but,  speaking  according  to  my  own  light,  I  think 
you  may  feel  quite  at  ease  on  that  point.  You  have  read 
that  old  story  of  Polycrates'  ring  ?  Well,  I  actually  sug- 
gested some  such  set-off  against  good  luck  to  Mark  not  a 
week  ago,  and  his  chief  objection  to  it  was,  if  I  remember 
right,  that  there  was  nothing  he  should  miss  sufficiently, 
except — his  wife." 

A  bright  glow  of  pleasure  possessed  her  face  for  a 
second  or  two.  Then  it  grew  pensive  again,  as  she  re- 
peated, under  her  breath, — 

"Not  a  week  ago!" 


202  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

Much  to  Yere's  relief,  "  Mark  over  1"  came  down  the 
wind  just  then,  and  stopped  the  converse  for  the  present. 

To  chronicle  the  sport  at  length,  if  it  did  not  savor  of 
vain  repetition,  would  be  pains  thrown  away.  To  such 
as  have  approved  them,  the  sketch  would  seem  colorless 
and  faint;  to  such  as  know  them  not,  no  word-painting 
would  worthily  set  forth  the  various  delights — never 
quite,  though  so  nearly,  the  same — of  a  clear  August  day 
so  spent  in  Wildernesse.  The  patient  upward  climb 
through  glen  and  corrie,  till  the  last  brae  is  breasted  and 
the  posts  attained ;  the  rest  just  long  enough  to  steady 
the  nerves  again  amidst  great  peace,  which  is  not  still- 
ness, for  there  is  never  stillness  on  the  moorland  while 
curlew  and  plover  are  awake  or  the  western  breeze  is 
stirring — the  tingle  of  the  pulse  at  the  first  whirr  of 
coming  wings — the  self- approval  when  each  shot  is  fol- 
lowed by  a  dull  thud,  and  through  the  smoke  of  the  second 
barrel  you  look  for  the  crumpled  heap  of  feathers  that 
was  a  brave  grouse-cock  a  second  ago — the  comparing  of 
notes  after  the  drive  is  done,  when  our  elaborate  defense 
of  that  palpable  miss  finds  no  favor  with  a  jury  of  our 
compeers,  who  will  never  allow  that  sun  or  cloud  could 
possibly  have  interfered  in  any  aim  but  their  own — the 
nooning,  in  the  shadow  of  a  "  brindled  rock"  within  reach 
of  the  hill-spring  that,  where  it  soaks  through  the  moss, 
makes  russet  emerald — the  conquest  over  a  wolfish  appe- 
tite and  the  intense  thirst,  achieved  with  a  view  to  straight 
powder  thereafter — then  the  leisurely  walk  or  ride  that 
brings  us  home  again,  when  the  last  pipe  is  flavored  by  a 
comfortable  consciousness  of  having  done  to  death  a  cer- 
tain number  of  one's  fellow-creatures  in  the  merciful 
fashion  that  leaves  few  halt  or  maimed.  Looking  back 
on  such  a  day  in  after-time,  from  the  midst  of  work  or 
worry,  are  you  not  prone  to  murmur, — 

"  Quando  ullum  in veniem  parem  "  ? 

It  is  sufficient  to  say  that  the  drive  was  voted  the  com- 
pletest  success  by  every  one  concerned  therein,  either  as 
actor  or  spectator,  and  that  the  whole  party  returned  in 
great  spirit  to  the  castle,  where  they  found  the  Solitary 
in  a  state  of  tranquil  beatitude. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  203 

"I'm  ashamed  to  say  how  much  I've  enjoyed  myself,'' 
he  said.  "  I  like  poking  about  old  places  above  all  things, 
and  I  haven't  exhausted  Kenlis  yet." 

Perhaps  it  was  on  this  account  that  Irving  needed  so 
little  pressing  to  prolong  his  visit.  After  dinner  they 
had  music,  of  course,  of  a  more  desultory  kind  than  on 
the  evening  before ;  and  there  was  a  good  deal  of  confi- 
dential chat — people  pairing  off  much  as  they  had  done 
on  the  hill-side.  Excitement  and  unwonted  exercise  act- 
ing on  a  delicate  frame  may  fairly  account  for  fatigue  ; 
but,  with  all  this  given  in,  Blanche  wondered,  as  she  laid 
her  head  on  her  pillow  that  night,  why  she  felt  so  very, 
very  weary. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

QUITE  half  a  century  back,  Mervyne  was  a  seaport  of 
high  credit  and  renown,  month  by  month  and  year  by 
year  forging  gradually  ahead  of  her  rivals  in  the  colonial 
trade,  and  taking  the  wind  out  of  their  sails.  Her  mer- 
chants even  then  were  noted  for  bold  enterprise  ;  albeit 
rash  adventures  were  the  exception  rather  than  the  rule, 
and  gambling  in  stocks  was  no  more  in  vogue  there  than 
French  hazard. 

In  those  days  there  dwelt  there  a  certain  hard-working 
lawyer — James  Welsted  by  name — with  sufficient  ability 
to  keep  together,  without  greatly  adding  to,  the  modest 
connection  he  had  inherited  from  his  father.  His  opinion 
carried  some  weight  with  it,  even  in  matters  not  strictly 
professional ;  chiefly  because,  if  he  erred,  it  was  sure  to 
be  on  the  side  of  caution.  In  truth,  if  he  had  sometimes 
put  the  drag  on  wheels  rolling  to  ruin,  he  had  quite  as 
often  hindered  rapid  advance  to  fortune.  Such  being  the 
nature  of  the  man.  it  may  be  supposed  that  no  little  won- 
der prevailed  in  Mervyne  when  it  was  noised  abroad  that 
James  Welsted  had  invested  all  his  savings — more  than 
this,  all  the  cash  he  could  raise  on  credit — in  the  purchase 


204  BREAKING  A  BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

of  certain  waste-lands  lying  along  the  farther  shore  of  the 
estuary  of  the  Mere. 

A  drearier-looking  estate  could  scarcely  be  imagined. 
The  hungriest  of  cattle  turned  away  from  the  rank,  sour 
pasturage,  and  from  the  brackish  pools.  A  feeble  attempt 
had  been  made  at  establishing  a  rabbit-warren  ;  but  even 
the  hardy  cony  declined  to  colonize  the  wind-swept  hill- 
ocks, with  naught  sweeter  than  bent-grass  to  satisfy  his 
cravings.  One  or  two  small  speculators  had  tried  their 
hands  at  draining;  but,  go  as  deep  as  they  would,  the 
ooze  would  soak  through  and  poison  the  crop  before  it 
could  sprout.  The  wiseacres  shook  their  heads  as  they 
asked  each  other  what  James  Welsted  could  possibly  ex- 
pect to  make  of  his  purchase.  It  was  useless  asking  him 
that  question ;  for  he  could  keep  his  own  counsel  not  less 
religiously  than  that  of  his  clients.  Some  of  his  intimates 
expressed  their  misgivings  aloud,  while  others  bantered 
him  on  his  proprietary  ambition  ;  but  the  lawyer  listened 
both  to  chaff  and  warning  with  the  same  saturnine  smile. 
Three  years  later  he  was,  in  outward  appearance,  the  least 
astonished  person  in  all  Mervyne,  when  it  was  discovered 
that  every  perch  of  those  dreary  marishes  was  worth  more 
than  the  richest  meadow-acre  that  ever  was  mown,  inas- 
much as  the  site  was  absolutely  necessary  for  the  promo- 
tion of  a  gigantic  dock  scheme,  just  then  set  afoot  by  a 
powerful  company,  with  the  direct  sanction  of  govern- 
ment. The  drainage  difficulties,  which  had  exhausted 
the  patience  and  the  purses  of  the  puny  capitalists  who 
had  hitherto  tried  experiments  here,  were  mere  child's- 
play  to  the  engineers  who  had  already  laid  athwart  Chat 
Moss  a  safe  pathway  for  the  "resonant  steam-eagles." 
The  water  was  soon  taught  to  observe  order  and  method 
in  its  goings-out  and  comings-in;  the  faithless,  friable  soil 
was  shoveled  aside  or  crushed  into  consistency  by  the 
mere  weight  of  stone.  And  so  the  great  work  went  grandly 
on,  whilst  the  Mervynites  rubbed  their  eyes,  scarcely  be- 
lieving in  the  wonders  wrought  over  against  them ;  much 
as  the  idlers  may  have  done  when  the  morning  sun 'shone 
on  the  palace  built  for  Aladdin  by  the  cunning  architects 
of  Jinnistan. 

The  wealth  that  thus  flowed  into  the  lawyer's  coffers, 


BLANCHE  tfLLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  205 

if  not  absolutely  colossal — he  drove  no  usurious  bargain 
with  the  dock  company — was  large  enough  to  make  him 
at  once  a  man  of  mark ;  for  the  days  of  fabulous  specula- 
tion were  not  as  yet,  and  seldom  even  on  the  Stock  Ex- 
change were  there  attempts  to  emulate  the  coup  which, 
after  Waterloo  was  won,  made  Rothschild's  name  scarce 
less  famous  than  the  Iron  Duke's.  At  any  rate,  James 
Welsted  was  so  content  with  his  gains  that  he  never 
strove  to  augment  them.  Men  who  had  been  used  to 
pass  him  by  as  an  honest  humdrum  plodder  bowed  them- 
selves now  before  his  shrewd  foresight,  and  besought  him 
to  cast  upon  their  enterprises  the  light  of  his  countenance. 
Without  the  shadow  of  risk,  he  might  have  made  tens  of 
thousands  by  simply  trafficking  on  his  name.  But  at 
none  of  those  baits,  however  tempting,  did  he  ever  so 
much  as  nibble  ;  and  so  what  was  added  to  his  pile  was 
only  the  superfluity  of  income  which  remained  over  at 
each  year's  end.  Sooth  to  say,  these  savings  rolled  up 
apace ;  for  James  Welsted  was  none  of  those  who  be- 
come spendthrifts  after  their  beards  are  gray,  and  the 
woman  he  married  somewhat  late  in  life  had  much  the  same 
homely  tastes  as  her  husband.  He  gave  up  his  profession 
at  once;  for  he  loved  not  labor  for  labor's  sake,  and,  after 
due  circumspection,  once  more  invested  large  moneys  in 
land. 

Kineton  was  a  fine  place,  certainly,  but  not  large  enough 
to  carry  with  it  much  territorial  influence,  and  therefore, 
perhaps,  the  better  suited  to  James  Welsted's  requirements. 
Though  he  was  neighborly  enough  in  all  essential  ways,  he 
never  sought  to  take  rank  among  the  county  magnates — as 
he  might  easily  have  done,  without  fear  of  discouragement 
on  their  part — and  stood  scrupulously  aloof  from  politics. 
After  he  had  dwelt  there  a  dozen  years  or  more,  his  wife 
died,  and  thenceforth  bis  habits  were  completely  changed. 
He  was  one  of  those  plain,  practical  people  who  never 
gain  credit  for  very  deep  feelings,  but  who,  nevertheless, 
recover  more  slowly  from  a  home-blow  than  many  senti- 
mentalists who  establish  a  claim  on  our  sympathy  by  dint 
of  parading  their  mourning  weeds.  A  stranger  walking 
by  the  widower's  side  as  he  followed  the  coffin  up  the 
aisle  would  scarcely  have  guessed  at  the  love  which 

18 


20G  BREAKING  A    BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

had  bound  those  two  together.  The  haggardness  of  his 
countenance  might  have  been  set  down  to  long  watching 
quite  as  much  as  to  grief,  and  there  were  no  tears  in  his 
heavy,  downcast  eyes ;  but  he  never  lifted  his  head  or 
looked  the  world  fairly  in  the  face  again.  His  only  child 
was  scarcely  fourteen,  so  there  was  no  absolute  reason  to 
drag  him  into  society. 

Before  four  years  were  passed,  James  Welsted  had 
done  with  his  duties  toward  his  neighbor,  and  had  writ- 
ten up  his  account  with  God.  Besides  sorrow  for  his 
dead  wife,  the  old  man's  latter  days  were  troubled  with 
misgivings  as  to  the  future  of  his  orphan  heiress.  Of  all 
the  texts  in  Scripture — and  he  was  a  simple,  conscientious, 
if  not  a  very  earnest,  Christian — there  were  none  that 
carried  more  thorough  conviction  to  his  mind  than  those 
which  touched  on  the  snares  encompassing  the  possessors 
of  great  riches.  Nevertheless,  it  must  be  owned  that  it 
was  for  his  child's  worldly  welfare  he  was  chiefly  con- 
cerned. Fond  as  he  was  of  her — proud,  too,  in  a  certain 
fashion — he  did  not  invest  his  daughter  with  fictitious 
personal  or  mental  attractions.  He  acknowledged  to 
himself  that  the  suitor  who  should  seek  Mary  Welsted 
without  a  single  mercenary  motive  was  not  likely  to  be 
found.  His  long  legal  experience  had  taught  him  to  esti- 
mate pretty  accurately  the  chances  of  happiness  where, 
on  one  side  at  least,  the  marriage  contract  is  signed  in  a 
purely  commercial  spirit.  However,-  such  of  these  mis- 
givings as  he  kept  not  entirely  to  himself  were  confided 
only  to  the  trusty  friend  whom  he  appointed  Mary's  chief 
guardian  ;  and  there  were  found  in.  his  will  few  harder 
conditions  than  he  must  needs  have  insisted  on  had  he 
lived  to  dispose  of  her  hand.  And  so — having  to  the  best 
of  his  ability  made  his  provisions,  and  set  his  house  in 
order — honest  James  Welsted  went  contented  to  his  rest. 

Is  there  any  older  simile  than  that  one  which  sym- 
bolizes man's  strength  and  woman's  weakness  by  the  alli- 
ance of  the  elm  and  the  vine?  Perchance  years  and 
years  before  the  battered  hull  carrying  J3neas  drifted 
landwards  under  the  lapygian  Cape,  singers  dallied  with 
the  conceit,  and  maidens  smiled  assent,  nestling  closer  to 
the  side  of  their  Pelasgian  lovers.  Every  age  since  then 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  207 

must  have  furnished  millions  of  instances  where  conver- 
sion of  terms  would  have  brought  us  nearer  to  the  truth. 
But  they  have  become  so  multiplied  of  late,  that  even  the 
aspirants  to  the  honors  of  the  Eisteddfodd  would  scarcely 
venture  to  repeat  the  comparison.  Putting  aside  the  pro- 
fessional advocates  of  woman's  rights,  simply  because 
they  represent  womanhood  no  more  than  the  Leaguers 
represent  liberalism,  female  emancipation  has  spread  so 
far  already  that  it  seems  to  me  the  best  thing  we  can  do, 
in  presence  of  these  wise  virgins  and  matrons,  is  to  stand 
aside — proffering  neither  counsel  nor  championship  till 
they  are  absolutely  required  of  us,  and  hoping  that  the 
Lemnian  revolution  may  not  repeat  itself  just  yet. 

A  fitter  representative  of  the  independent  party  than 
Mary  Welsted  could  scarcely  have  been  found.  As  the 
helpmeet  of  an  ambitious  business-man  she  would  have 
been  thoroughly  in  her  right  place,  and  would  have  turned 
out  not  only  a  more  useful,  but  a  more  agreeable,  mem- 
ber of  society.  As  it  was,  her  obstinate  energy  had 
nothing  substantial  to  work  upon,  and,  from  mere  lack  of 
outlet,  fermented  sometimes  angrily.  Her  faults  did  not 
spring  from  badness  of  heart,  or  even  from  any  peculiar 
infirmity  of  temper.  She  was  large-handed  in  her  chari- 
ties, and  spent  the  money  of  which,  long  before  she  came 
to  years  of  discretion,  she  had  unlimited  command,  libe- 
rally enough  as  a  rule,  though,  even  at  that  early  age,  she 
had  very  just  notions  of  the  value  of  a  pound  sterling. 
She  bore  herself  a  little  imperiously  sometimes,  but  never 
tyrannically,  toward  her  dependents,  and  had  fewer  ca- 
prices than  most  spoiled  children.  Nevertheless,  it  would 
have  been  as  gross  flattery  to  call  Mary  Welsted  amiable 
as  it  would  have  been  to  call  her  beautiful. 

She  herself  was  quite  conscious  of  this — painfully  con- 
scious, too.  Even  strong-minded  women,  until  their  moral 
training  is  perfected,  are  not  always  exempt  from  per- 
sonal vanity,  and  it  is  often  the  last  weakness  that  they 
vanquish. 

From  the  time  that  she  could  distinguish  good  from 
evil,  Mary  AVelsted  had  seldom  looked  into  her  mirror 
without  discontent  and  envy;  and,  as  she  passed  from 
childhood,  this  feeling  was  rather  embittered  than  soft- 


208  BREAKING   A    UUTTE11FLY;    OR, 

ened.  The  large,  clumsy  figure,  that  no  device  of  mil- 
linery could  refine;  the  high,  coarse  complexion,  that  no 
combination  of  colors  could  tone  down ;  the  pale,  dull  eyes, 
that  never  brightened,  even  in  anger ;  the  wealth  that 
would  have  enabled  her  to  fill  a  gallery  with  masterpieces 
of  modern  and  ancient  art  could  not  alter  one  of  these 
defects.  She  had  her  fair  share  of  natural  abilities,  but 
none  of  the  rare  talent  that  often  more  than  supplies  tho 
lack  of  surface-beauty.  And  so  it  came  to  pass,  though 
neither  confessed  it  to  the  other,  that  both  father  and 
daughter  asked  of  themselves  the  same  dreary  question, 
"  Is  it  likely  that  any  man  will  come  wooing  here  in  truth 
and  honor?"  and  got  from  their  hearts  the  same  dreary 
answer. 

But,  as  she  could  not  fret  herself  thin,  Mary  Welstcil 
was  much  too  sensible  a  girl  to  fret  herself  to  death  over 
any  dispensation  of  Providence.  She  had  a  capital  con- 
stitution, and  a  keen  appreciation  of  the  good  things  of 
this  life.  When  the  year  of  mourning  for  her  father  had 
expired — and  very  sincere  mourning  it  was — she  went 
forth  into  the  world  with  a  firm  determination  to  make 
the  best  of  it.  Pier  chief  guardian  was  a  wise  and  pru- 
dent elder,  able  and  willing  to  take  excellent  care  of.  his 
ward's  temporal  concerns,  but  utterly  unfitted  to  escort  her 
in  society.  Indeed,  his  name,  so  honored  on  'Change, 
was  scarcely  known  west  of  The  Bar. 

Lady  Mandrake  was  the  Welsteds'  nearest  county 
neighbor.  She  was  a  dame  of  stainless  repute,  and  had 
married  off  both  her  own  daughters  creditably.  So  to 
her  care  the  orphan  heiress  was  committed,  and  she 
readily  undertook  the  charge. 

There  is  not  much  perhaps  of  the  ancient  Roman  about 
the  modern  fortune-hunter;  but  Vespasian  himself  could 
not  be  more  philosophically  indifferent  as  to  the  source 
of  the  golden  stream  wherein  he  would  slake  his  thirst. 
However,  this  particular  Pactolus  might  have  been  traced 
to  its  fountain-head  without  aught  being  discovered  to 
offend  the  most  squeamish  nostrils.  Even  in  point  of  birth 
there  was  not  much  to  quarrel  with ;  Miss  Welsted's 
father,  and  grandfather  to  boot,  were  "esquires  by  act  of 
Parliament,''  and  her  nviflii-r  sprung,  to  say  the  least  of 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIKS  ENDING.  209 

it,  from  the  haute  bourgeoisie.  So  at  the  advent  of  the 
new  heiress  there  was  such  a  stir  among  the  aspirants 
and  their  patronesses  as  might  have  been  seen  in  old 
times  on  Amsterdam  quays  as  some  stately  argosy  dropped 
anchor,  hailing  from  Indian  seas.  Men  who,  in  the  days 
when  Lady  Mandrake  had  daughters  on  hand,  had  voted 
her  evenings  slow  and  only  lounged  in  there  for  a  few 
minutes  as  an  act  of  penance  or  duty,  took  pains  to  make 
their  invitations  sure,  and  never  by  any  chance  were  en- 
gaged elsewhere.  The  dame  herself  was  much  too  shrewd 
and  worldly-wise  not  to  be  sensible  of  the  difference;  but 
it  chafed  her  not  a  whit.  Her  own  brood  were  comfortably 
settled  in  their  well-feathered  nests,  and  she  bore  no  malice 
to  the  stranger  for  wearing  more  gorgeous  plumage.  She 
estimated  the  importance  of  her  position  aright,  and  made 
good  use  of  it,  you  may  be  sure.  There  is  always  a  cer- 
tain satisfaction  in  being  courted,  be  the  proxy  ever  so 
palpable. 

In  the  course  of  her  first  season  Miss  Welsted  was 
credited  with  three  distinct  offers,  one  of  which  seemed 
perfectly  unexceptionable :  all  three  were  declined  quite 
as  decisively  as  was  consistent  with  courtesy.  There  was 
a  good  deal  of  republicanism  in  this  young  person's  com- 
position; and  for  aristocrats,  as  a  class,  she  had  small 
veneration  or  liking,  though,  socially  speaking,  she  found 
them  easier  to  get  on  with  than  the  scions  of  the  plu- 
tocracy. But  partner  for  a  cotillon,  and  partner  for  life, 
are  two  very  different  things.  She  had  no  mind  to  enter 
a  great  family,  where  she  might  expect  such  a  welcome 
as  a  poor,  proud  German  princeling  might  accord  to  some 
potent  Hebrew  financier.  She  did  not  fancy  that  the  faults 
of  her  figure  and  face  could  be  amended  by  the  wearing 
of  a  coronet  or  peeress's  robes,  and  she  thought  there  were 
better  investments  than  contingent  reversions  ever  so 
brilliant  and  proximate.  If  it  must  needs  be  a  question 
of  barter,  she  was  resolved  at  least  to  have  her  money's 
worth  in  the  ample  fulfillment  of  her  own  fancy.  More- 
over, by  receiving  nothing  while  she  bestowed  all,  she 
had  at  least  a  chance  of  securing  gratitude,  even  if  she 
failed  in  winning  love. 

Lady  Mandrake  —  a  stanch  Conservative  in  all  her 
O  18* 


210  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

ways — had  little  sympathy  with  such  Radical  notions ; 
but,  even  if  she  had  not  been  content  to  prolong  her  own 
pleasant  responsibility,  she  was  too  discreet  to  urge  her 
charge  into  matrimony  generally,  much  less  to  compro- 
mise herself  by  advocating  any  special  suitor's  claims. 
But  dark  and  overcast  waxed  the  brow  of  the  august 
matron  when,  early  in  their  second  season,  she  discovered 
that  her  heiress  was  no  longer  fancy-free,  and  guessed 
where  the  preference  had  fallen. 

Miss  Welsted  was  intensely  fond  of  vocal  music,  and 
among  her  physical  defects  a  weak,  intractable  organ  was 
the  one  she  regretted  most.  Just  before  leaving  town  in 
the  previous  summer,  she  heard  Horace  Kendall's  voice 
for  the  first  time.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  never 
listened  to  its  equal.  Many  others  sang  that  night — he, 
not  again — but  Mary  Welsted  went  home  with  certain 
cadences  floating  in  her  ears  which  haunted  them  long 
and  often  afterward, — cadences  of  that  wonderful  love- 
song,  all  the  more  passionate  because  there  mingle  in  it 
so  many  notes  of  a  dirge,  the  farewell  of  the  doomed 
troubadour. 

She  was  not  one  of  those  who,  if  a  fancy  cannot  in- 
stantly be  gratified,  straightway  forget  it  and  take  up  a 
new  one.  All  through  the  autumn  and  winter  she  kept 
one  purpose  steadily  before  her — the  becoming  acquainted 
with  Horace  Kendall.  She  came  to  town  in  the  middle 
of  the  ensuing  April,  and  before  the  1st  of  May  they 
were  almost  intimate. 

Now,  it  might  reasonably  have  been  supposed  that 
further  acquaintance  with  Horace  Kendall  would  have 
been  the  best  possible  cure  for  the  distemper  of  her 
fancy.  The  stage  tricks  and  mannerisms  that  might 
dazzle  a  romantic  school-girl  ought  surely  never  to  have 
beguiled  plain  common  sense  like  Mary  Welsted's. 
There  were  bis  voice  and  face,  to  be  sure ;  yet  one  would 
have  thought  that  something  more  than  mere  attraction 
of  eye  and  ear  would  have  been  needed  to  enthrall  such 
a  character  as  hers.  But  the  fancies  of  even  strong- 
minded  women  are  not  to  be  measured  by  any  rule,  un- 
less it  be  the  rule  of  contraries  Day  by  day  the  prefer- 
ence of  the  heiress  for  the  penniless  adventurer — for  such 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  211 

she  knew  Kendall  to  be — waxed  stronger,  nor  was  she 
careful  to  conceal  it.  While  the  season  was  yet  young, 
others  besides  Tiernan  guessed  that  the  "  Welsted  Cup 
was  not  now  such  an  open  race,"  and  the  attendances  at 
Lady  Mandrake's  evenings  fell  off  perceptibly. 

The  strangest  thing  of  all  was,  that  Kendall  himself 
should  so  far  have  manifested  no  great  eagerness  to 
profit  by  his  vantage-ground.  His  wildest  dreams  of 
ambition  could  scarcely  have  imagined  a  richer  pi*ize 
than  that  which  seemed  hanging  within  his  grasp — a 
prize,  moreover,  to  which  men  worthier  tenfold  than 
himself  were  known  to  aspire ;  yet  he  hesitated  to  pluck 
it.  Was  it  a  cold  calculation  of  the  chances  that  caused 
him  to  forbear?  Or  is  there  in  the  old  worn  adage, 
Nemo  repente  fuit  turpissimus,  some  truth  after  all  ? 
Selfish  and  treacherous  and  cruel  as  he  was,  there  was, 
perchance,  enough  of  the  red  Provencal  blood  in  the 
veins  of  A  dele  Deshon's  son  to  make  him  hesitate  be- 
twixt such  a  scanty  dowry  as  Gwendoline  Marston 
could  bring,  and  the  horn  of  plenty  held  in  the  larger 
hands  of  the  Loamshire  heiress.  Moreover,  in  the  lighter 
scale  there  were  cast  the  attractions  of  title  and  ancestry 
— always  so  tempting  to  the  basely-born.  So,  for  a 
while,  the  balance  swayed  almost  evenly. 

Miss  Welsted  was  as  well  aware  of  the  state  of  things 
as  if  Kendall  had  confessed  it  in  so  many  words.  Matters 
had  not  yet  come  to  such  a  pass  betwixt  them  that  she 
could  question  his  actions,  or  indeed  give  any  outward 
sign  of  jealous  discontent.  But  because  she  sedulously 
avoided  even  the  mention  of  her  rival's  name,  it  is  not  to 
be  supposed  that,  either  waking  or  sleeping,  she  ignored 
the  other's  existence,  or  hated  her  a  whit  less  bitterly. 
Kendall  was,  as  you  know,  forced  to  be  very  guarded  in 
his  bearing  toward  Nina  Marston;  but  Mary  Welsted, 
short-sighted  as  she  was,  saw  many  things  to  which  the 
world  in  general  was  blind;  and  often,  as  she  drove 
homeward  through  the  night,  by  the  side  of  her  dozing 
chaperon,  angry  tears  wetted,  without  cooling,  her  aching 
eyes. 

The  heiress,  as  you  will  perceive,  held  undeniably 
strong  cards,  but  not  absolutely  a  game-hand,  unless 


212  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

properly  led  up  to.  Such  aid  was  rendered  from  an  un- 
expected quarter,  and  quite  undesignedly.  Lord  Daventry 
— his  eldest  son  being  yet  of  tender  years — concerned 
himself  not  with  the  "good  things"  of  the  marriage- 
market,  and  perhaps  had  not  so  much  as  heard  of  Miss 
Welsted's  name.  If  he  had  been  a  paid  agent,  he  could 
not  have  forwarded  her  purposes  more  effectually  than  he 
did  on  a  certain  morning  whereof  mention  has  been  made 
above. 

A  brave  man  who,  either  from  force  of  circumstances 
or  consciousness  of  being  fearfully  in  the  wrong,  has  en- 
dured insult  without  resenting  it,  may,  when  the  first 
bitterness  is  past,  bear  no  malice  to  his  adversary;  but 
very  seldom  since  the  world  began  has  a  coward  forgiven 
the  man  that  wrought  him  dishonor,  or  even  those  who 
indirectly  had  art  or  part  therein.  Therefore  you  may 
judge  in  what  frame  of  mind  Kendall  left  Kensington 
Gardens  after  his  interview  with  Nina's  father.  All  that 
day  and  evening,  though  he  went  into  society  as  usual, 
he  brooded  over  it  till  he  came  to  look  on  every  one  bear- 
ing the  name  of  Marston  as  his  natural  enemy.  It  was 
with  no  gentler  feeling  that  he  tore  open  a  note  brought 
by  the  next  morning's  post;  neither  did  his  heart  soften 
a  whit  as  he  read.  Thus  it  ran : — 

"I  ought  to  believe  that  these  are  the  last  words  I 
shall  ever  write  to  you;  jet  I  cannot  believe  it.  They 
must  be  the  last  for  a  long,  long  time  to  come,  for  I  have 
promised.  It  is  no  use  struggling  now:  perhaps  some 
day  I  shall  not  be  utterly  helpless;  and  then,  if  you  still 
care,  you  shall  see.  You  would  not  look  up  as  I  passed 
this  morning.  Even  if  papa  spoke  harshly — it  would 
not  be  like  him  if  he  did — you  cannot  possibly  be  angry 
with  me.  That  would  be  too  hard.  I  don't  think  you 
ever  guessed — perhaps  it  is  as  well  you  never  should 
guess  now — how  much  I  cared  for  you. 

"I  do  so  wish  I  could  make  you  believe  that,  till  I 
know  for  certain  that  you  have  quite  given  me  up,  I  shall 
never  do  or  say  a  single  thing  you  need  mind.  It  is 
very  foolish,  but  I  cannot  help  hoping  still  that,  if  we 
were  both  patient  and  true,  we  might  win  the  battle  yet 
At  least,  /mean  to  try  ;  and  will  you  not  try  too?  You 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S   ENDING.  213 

must  not  speak  to  me  if  we  meet,  and  you  must  not  an- 
swer this :  it  might  make  more  mischief.  Nothing  that 
you  can  write  would  make  me  trust  you  more  thoroughly 
than  I  do ;  and  I  would  not  fetter  you  with  any  promises, 
even  if  I  could.  My  fetter  has  brought  bad  luck  enough 
already.  I  send  you  back  the  key.  Don't  throw  the  poor 
thing  away,  though  it  got  us  into  this  scrape,  but  look 
at  it  whenever  you  want  to  be  reminded  of  me.  And 
now  good-by,  dear.  I  pray — so  earnestly — that  God  will 
make  and  keep  you  happy,  even  if  I  never  hear  you  say 
'  Nma'  again." 

He  unlocked  the  armlet  at  once,  and  flung  it  from  him 
with  a  coarse  laugh,  very  unlike  that  soft,  subdued  one 
with  which  society  was  familiar. 

"  'Patient  and  true!' — that's  a  modest  suggestion.  So 
I  am  to  live  a  sort  of  anchorite's  life  for  the  next  four 
years,  on  the  off-chance  of  her  people's  changing  their 
mind,  or  of  her  being  in  the  same  when  she  comes  to  be 
her  own  mistress.  Pas  si  bete,  mademoiselle!  We 
have  had  enough  of  child's-play  and  sentimentality.  I 
have  a  much  better  game  to  play,  and  I'll  play  it  out  in 
earnest  now,  by  G — !" 

Every  word  in  that  letter  was  natural,  and  came  straight 
from  the  heart;  yet  every  word  in  it  was  penned  with  in- 
finite care,  in  the  earnest  hope  that  it  would  plead  for  the 
writer  in  the  after-time,  when  Gwendoline  Marston  and 
Horace  Kendall  must  before  the  world  be  strangers.  Did 
it  deserve  to  fare  better  ?  For  myself,  I  do  not  care  to 
answer  that  question.  If  damsels  of  high  degree  will 
derogate  beyond  reasonable  limits,  perhaps  it  is  as  well 
they  should  be  schooled  somewhat  sharply. 

Years  ago  I  remember  assisting  at  an  agricultural 
meeting  in  the  Weald,  which,  after  the  serious  toast- 
business  had  been  got  through,  resolved  itself  into  a  kind 
of  harmonic  meeting.  Late  in  the  evening  a  big  bass- 
voiced  farmer  obliged  the  company  with  a  song  that  was 
evidently  a  special  favorite.  Only  the  first  out  of  some 
twoscore  verses  abides  in  my  memory : 

"  Come,  listen  all  unto  my  tale, 

And  I'll  tell  yc  how  it  began  : 
It's  all  along  of  a  Indy  fail- 
That  loved  her  serving-man." 


214  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

In  point  of  tune  it  was  a  very  dolorous  ditty ;  but  the  de- 
scription of  the  domestic  felicity  ensuing  on  the  conde- 
scension of  the  person  of  quality  was  cheerful  in  the  ex- 
treme. The  stalwart  Kentishmen  smote  on  the  board 
till  the  goblets  jingled  again — applauding,  as  it  seemed, 
the  sentiment  no  less  than  the  melody ;  but  if,  the  next 
morning,  it  had  been  noised  abroad  that  the  daughter  of 
a  neighboring  squire  had  eloped  with  her  father's  bailiff, 
I  believe  every  man  there  present  would  have  wagged 
his  head  disapprovingly,  prophesying  all  manner  of^vil 
concerning  the  delinquents.  The  wedding-garment  made 
up  of  diverse  fabrics,  even  if  it  be  becoming,  is  seldom 
lasting — ay,  though  the  cloth-of-gold  be  worn  by  so  gra- 
cious a  lady  as  the  Duchess  Mary,  and  the  cloth-of-frieze 
by  so  proper  a  gallant  as  Charles  Brandon. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

"  NOT  wish  to  believe  you  ?  Why,  I  would  give  half 
I  am  worth — more  than  that — half  my  life — to  believe  !" 

Mary  Welsted  spoke  these  words  with  a  passion  quite 
foreign  to  her  steady,  well-regulated  temper.  What  had 
so  moved  her  you  shall  hear. 

Since  Horace  Kendall  resolved  within  himself  to  put 
aside  "  child's-play,"  and  to  follow  up  in  earnest  the  bet- 
ter thing,  he  had  shown  no  lack  of  either  tact  or  energy. 
Not  that  there  was  any  great  need  of  either.  Mary  Wel- 
sted was  one  of  those  downright  women  whose  likes  and 
dislikes  are  not  easy  to  be  misinterpreted,  and  who,  how- 
ever humble  in  other  matters,  are  apt  occasionally  to 
usurp  royal  privileges,  by  doing  more  than  the  passive 
share  of  courtship.  She  preferred  Horace  Kendall  to  all 
the  world,  and  was  not  a  whit  loath  that  all  the  world — 
including,  of  course,  the  object  of  her  preference — should 
be  made  aware  of  the  fact.  Whether  that  preference  was 
wise  or  no,  was  quite  another  matter.  She  may  possibly 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  215 

have  asked  herself  that  question  more  than  once  ;  but  for 
some  time  past  she  had  ceased  to  discuss  it  with  herself, 
much  less  with  others. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  a  model  chaperon  like 
Lady  Mandrake  would  approve,  or  even  connive  at,  such 
a  dereliction  in  social  duty  as  she  was  now  compelled  to 
witness  almost  daily.  Neither  did  the  august  matron 
confine  her  protest  to  dumb-show,  but,  on  one  occasion, 
spoke  her  mind  pretty  plainly. 

"  I  am  not  thinking  of  money,  my  dear.  If  you  had 
decided  on  marrying  poor  Hugo  Clermont,  who  is  crible 
de  dettes,  and  never  can  have  more  than  three  hundred  a 
year  of  his  own,  I  should  not  have  been  surprised;  for 
you  can  perfectly  well  afford  it,  and  you  would  have 
gained  something  like  a  Position"  (it  was  quite  a  treat  to 
hear  Lady  Mandrake  enunciate  this  word),  "at  all  events. 
There  is  no  need  to  look  into  Burke  to  find  out  who  the 
Clermonts  are.  But  here — good  gracious ! — what  do  you, 
what  does  any  one,  know  about  Mr.  Kendall,  except  that 
he  is  a  clerk  in  the  Rescript  Office,  with  a  fine  voice  and 
a  presentable  face  ?  Is  that  all  you  look  for  in  a  husband  ? 
I  wonder  you  don't  choose  Fiorelli  from  the  Mesopota- 
mian.  His  singing  is  infinitely  better  than  the  other's, 
and  he's  much  better-looking,  to  my  mind." 

Miss  Welsted  flushed  angrily ;  yet  she  chose  to  answer 
only  the  first  part  of  the  diatribe. 

"  There  is  no  accounting  for  taste,  of  course;  but  I  won- 
der you  could  not  suggest  somebody  more  attractive  than 
Hugo  Clermont — a  creature  with  a  head  like  a  barber's 
block,  and  not  five  ideas  inside  it." 

"I  don't  know  how  many  ideas  he  may  have,"  the 
elder  lady  retorted ;  "  but  he  expresses  them  like  a  gen- 
tleman, at  all  events,  and  that  is  more  than  can  be  said 
of  Mr.  Kendall.  His  affectations  are  the  most  palpable 
counterfeits;  it  quite  fidgets  me  to  watch  him,  some- 
times." 

"  I  never  denied  that  Mr.  Clermout  was  a  gentleman," 
the  other  remarked  :  "  I  never  supposed  a  cousin  of  yours 
could  be  anything  else.  Perhaps  it  is  my  fault  that  we 
can't  get  on  together.  It  is  only  quite  lately  that  1  have 
mixed  in  good  society,  remember.  1  dare  say  Mr.  Ken- 


216  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

dall's  manner  is  not  perfect;  but  it  does  not  shock  or 
fidget  me.  It  is  very  true  that  we  know  nothing  about 
his  family,  and  perhaps  Burke  knows  nothing  either. 
Well,  if  I  marry  him,  there  will  be  no  one  to  patronize 
me ;  that's  one  comfort,  and  not  a  small  one  either." 

Lady  Mandrake  drew  herself  up  majestically.  She 
was  a  just  and  upright  person  in  the  main,  though  some- 
what of  a  schemer,  and  throughout  this  affa'r  had  cer- 
tainly been  innocent  of  nepotism. 

"  I  think  you  will  regret  that  taunt  about  my  cousin 
when  you  are  cooler,  Miss  Welsted ;  I  have  scarcely  de- 
served it.  I  spoke  according  to  my  own  ideas  of  duty. 
They  are  old-fashioned,  perhaps ;  but  I  am  not  likely  to 
change  them.  I  did  not  pretend  to  any  authority  over 
you.  I  am  not  your  guardian,  and  you  are  only  under 
my  charge  so  long  as  it  suits  your  pleasure.  I  ought  to 
apologize  for  having  spoken  to  you  as  if  you  were  my  own 
daughter." 

Mary  Welsted's  temper,  although  sufficiently  ob&imate, 
was  not  rancorous.  When  she  felt  herself  in  the  «vrong, 
she  was  ready  enough  to  confess  it. 

"I  am  sorry  already,  Lady  Mandrake,"  sbe  said, 
bluntly,  "and  of  course  it's  I  who  ought  to  apologize. 
You  have  been  only  too  kind  to  me  all  along,  and  I  am 
not  going  to  quarrel  with  you  for  telling  me  I  din  a  fool. 
I  dare  say  I  am ;  but  I  can't  help  it.  Isn't  there  a  Fools' 
Paradise  somewhere  or  other  ?  Perhaps  they  will  let  us 
in  there;  and  you  will  come  and  see  us  sometimes,  I 
know,  though  you  do  look  so  grumpy  about  it.  And  now 
you  are  going  to  give  me  a  kiss  and  make  it  up." 

The  elder  dame  did  not  put  back  the  olive-branch  or 
refuse  the  salute;  but,  while  she  bestowed  it,  she  grum- 
bled something  under  her  breath  about  rfuch  infatuation 
being  perfectly  sinful. 

"  Well,  the  sin  must  rest  on  my  own  shoulders,"  Mary 
Welsted  said,  with  a  laugh;  "and  they  can  bear  it." 

As  she  spoke  she  glanced,  with  a  kind  of  quaint  humor, 
at  the  reflection  of  her  own  substantial  person  in  the 
mirror  hard  by. 

Thus  the  course  of  courtship  ran  on  smoothly  enouirh 
— so  smoothly  that  Horace  Kendall,  with  all  his  fatuity, 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  217 

was  sometimes  surprised  with  the  progress  he  made.  It 
was  strange,  certainly,  that  the  set  speeches,  which  even 
in  the  ears  of  such  a  romantic  child  as  Nina  Marston  did 
not  always  ring  true,  should  pass  current  with  one  whose 
sound  common  sense  verged  on  strong-mindedness.  Nor, 
in  very  deed,  was  Miss  Welsted  always,  or  even  often, 
imposed  upon.  She  drank  the  poison — drank  it  greedily, 
too — knowing  it  to  be  poison  all  the  while.  It  was  the 
old  story  of  the  opium-eater  repeating  itself,  as  it  will  do 
to  the  end  of  time.  '  The  warning  of  all  the  doctors  in 
Christendom  cannot  open  the  victim's  eyes  more  thor- 
oughly than  they  are  opened  already  to  the  properties  of 
the  fatal  herb.  He  knows  better  than  you  can  tell  him 
what  a  price  must  be  paid  for  each  delicious  dream  ;  and 
yet  it  would  be  easier  to  keep  the  wounded  hart  away 
from  the  water-brook  than  to  teach  him  to  refrain.  Never- 
theless, the  heiress  was  not  so  entirely  given  up  to  her 
o\vn  devices  but  that  she  hesitated  a  little  when  she  had 
to  'answer  to  a  direct  question  "Yea"  or  "Nay;"  and 
when  Mr.  Kendall  became  plaintive  about  her  not  wish- 
ing to  believe  in  the  disinterestedness  of  his  attachment, 
it  was  with  a  bitterness  savoring  of  self-contempt  that 
she  spoke  the  words  set  down  at  the  commencement  of 
this  chapter. 

Kendall  was  not  really  much  discouraged  by  this  reply ; 
but  if  his  aspirations  had  been  crushed  decisively,  his 
tone  and  manner  could  not  have  been  more  tenderly  re- 
proachful. 

"Is  it  so  impossible,  then,  fora  poor  man  to  be  honest  ? 
Will  you  judge  only  as  the  world  judges?  I  thought — 
I  hoped — you  would  judge  differently.  Surely  it  was 
cruel  not  to  have  spared  one  this." 

"  There  is  no  cruelty  in  the  case,"' she  retorted,  in  her 
abrupt  way;  "on  my  side,  at  least,  there  have  been  no 
false  pretenses.  To  the  question  you  asked  me  just  now, 
I  answer,  'Yes.'  Wait;  don't  come  any  nearer  yet. 
Having  said  so  much,  I  say  again  that  I  would  give  half 
my  life  to  feel  quite  sure  that  if  I  had  been  portionless — 
ay,  or  not  richer  than  Gwendoline  Marston — I  should 
have  heard  you  speak  as  you  have  spoken  to-day." 

In  the  flush  of  success  Kendall  had  risen  to  his  feet, 
19 


218  BREAKING   A    BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

with  the  evident  intention  of  enacting  all  the  forms  of 
gratitude  suitable  to  the  circumstances ;  but  that  impulse 
was  checked,  as  you  perceive,  and  as  he  stood  still,  at  a 
respectful  distance  from  his  affianced,  his  demeanor  was 
scarcely  that  of  a  triumphant  lover. 

"  So  you  will  half  trust  me  in  spite  of  worldly  wisdom, 
Mary  ?"  (A  slight  pause  made  the  word  fall  all  the  more 
musically.)  "Whole  trust  will  come  in  time,  I  know; 
and  I  will  be  patient  till  it  does  come.  I  am  glad  you 
mentioned  that  name ;  for  if  you  have  a  shadow  of  sus- 
picion in  that  quarter  henceforth  it  will  be  your  own  fault, 
not  mine.  I  don't  deny  that  I  have  admired  Lady  Gwen- 
doline; but  I  declare,  on  my  honor,  that  I  ceased  to  think 
of  her  before  I  ever  thought  hopefully  of  winning  you." 

A  dignified  disclaimer,  was  it  not,  to  be  uttered  by  the 
lips  of  Adele  Deshon's  son  ?  Very  rarely,  be  sure,  does 
even  a  sensible  woman  see  any  outrageous  absurdity  in 
the  self-assertion  of  the  man  she  loves,  when  it  is  made 
at  the  expense  of  her  own  sex.  Conquests  for  which 
Edwin  would  not  gain  credit  with  the  most  simple- 
minded  of  his  club-intimates  he  may  parade  before  An- 
gelina, in  the  comfortable  assurance  not  only  of  their 
being  implicitly  believed,  but  of  their  being  retailed  after- 
ward, under  the  strictest  seal  of  secrecy,  to  Angelina's 
select  circle.  And  the  odd  part  of  it  is,  that  it  is  not  only 
the  lady-paramount  of  Edwin's  affections  who  is  thus 
jealous  of  his  amative  renown.  Araminta,  whom  every- 
body said  he  jilted  so  infamously,  when  she  has  finished 
bewailing  her  virginity,  or  widowhood,  as  the  case  may 
be,  seems  equally  anxious  to  prove  that  his  fascinations 
have  been  fatal  to  others  besides  her  hapless  self,  and  will 
resent  incredulity  quite  as  fiercely. 

Her  suitor's  sultanesque  pose  did  not  strike  Mary  "Wel- 
sted  as  ridiculous.  On  the  contrary,  she  felt  more  satis- 
fied than  she  had  hitherto  done  that  he  was  speaking 
truth;  and  so  perhaps  he  was,  or  just  so  much  of  it  as 
the  Father  of  Lies  would  choose  for  the  seasoning  of  his 
subtlest  falsehood.  Kendall  was  indeed  definitely  severed 
from  Nina  Marston  before  he  seriously  urged  his  suit  to 
her  rival.  How  the  severance  was  effected  was,  ot 
course,  beside  the  question. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  219 

"Ceased  to  think  of  her?" 

Why,  even  while  he  was  gazing  into  the  dull,  unex 
pressive  orbs,  that  after  his  most  rapturous  tirades  scarcely 
brightened,  he  remembered  what  a  light  and  luster  used 
to  fill  the  superb  Spanish  eyes  ;  and  even  while  he  spoke 
of  trust  and .  patience,  he  remembered  who  wrote  so 
lately,  "  Only  be  patient  and  true." 

Though  she  had  fair  intuitive  powers,  Miss  Welsted 
guessed  at  not  one  syllable  of  all  this.  And  though  the 
misgiving  that  she  was  acting  unwisely  had  not  vanished 
entirely,  she  had  perhaps  never  felt  so  happy  in  her  life 
as  when  she  stretched  forth  her  hand  to  her  lover  as  he 
finished  speaking. 

It  was  an  honest,  workaday  hand,  sufficiently  white, 
but  without  any  pretensions  to  elegance,  and  scarcely  to 
be  compressed  into  liberal  "sevens."  These  defects  had 
never  been  so  palpable  to  Horace  as  when  he  stooped  and 
pressed  the  massive  fingers  to  his  lips ;  but  he  executed 
himself  bravely,  and  held  them  there  quite  as  long  as 
was  becoming.  Nor  was  he  less  successful  in  the  achieve- 
ment of  the  betrothal  embrace,  which  shortly  afterward 
ensued.  Nevertheless,  when  Miss  Welsted  hinted  that 
she  would  prefer  being  left  alone,  he  accepted  his  dismissal 
very  patiently,  on  the  condition  of  their  meeting  later 
in  the  evening ;  and  if  you  had  crossed  him  on  his  way 
homeward,  you  would  scarcely  have  guessed  that  you 
looked  on  the  winner  of  the  great  prize  in  that  season's 
lottery. 

The  potent  seniors  who  on  summer  afternoons  congre- 
gate in  a  special  window  of  the  Sanctorium  are  not  prone 
to  indulge  in  idle  gossip.  The  subjects  there  are  for  the 
most  part  such  as  are  likely  to  interest,  on  political  or 
other  grounds,  men  holding  a  stake  in  the  country.  The 
scandal  and  chit-chat  of  the  hour  they  leave  to  the 
smoking-  and  billiard-rooms,  where  is  found  the  lighter- 
minded  leaven  of  this  august  society.  Nevertheless,  on 
the  following  day  the  Welsted  engagement  was  fully  dis- 
cussed at  this  conclave,  and  Lord  Nithsdale  thought  the 
news  of  sufficient  importance  to  warrant  an  inroad  into 
his  wife's  dressing-room  before  dinner. 

"We  need  not  have  been  anxious  about  Nina,  after  all," 


220  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

he  observed.  "  Mr.  Kendall  had  much  more  substantial 
objects  in  view,  it  seems,  than  a  foolish  flirtation." 

The  Lady  Rose  bit  her  lips,  as  if  the  intelligence  only 
half  pleased  her. 

"  More  substantial,  certainly,  in  every  way.  Well,  some 
people's  luck  is  quite  provoking;  I  have  no  patience 
with  it." 

Lord  Nithsdale  smiled  gravely.  Not  particularly  keen- 
sighted  in  ordinary  matters,  he  had  begun  already  to  in- 
terpret his  wife's  thoughts  very  accurately. 

"  So  you  had  designs  on  the  heiress  for  one  of  your 
proteges,  Resie  ?  I  am  sorry  you  are  disappointed ;  but 
it  almost  serves  you  right.  You  should  leave  match- 
making to  older  and  wiser  heads." 

The  countess  could  not  deny  the  imputation.  She  had 
never  yet  mentioned  the  scheme  to  the  person  chiefly  in- 
terested therein  ;  but  she  had  certainly  speculated  as  to 
Avenel's  chances  of  success  if  he  could  be  induced  to  lay 
serious  siege  to  the  heiress.  It  was  so  pleasant  to  fancy 
Regy  a  millionaire,  and  with  such  a  perfect  temper  he 
was  sure  to  make  any  woman  happy.  She  had  laid  quite 
a  train  of  combinations  for  bringing  them  together,  and 
here  were  all  these  ingenious  schemes  shivered  as  hope- 
lessly as  Alnaschar's  glass. 

"Never  mind  what  I  meant,"  she  said,  rather  impa- 
tiently. "If  I  am  disappointed,  I  dare  say  I  am  not  the 
only  one.  I  suppose  one  ought  to  pity  poor  Miss  Wel- 
sted;  but  I  have  no  compassion  to  spare  for  people  I 
.hardly  know.  I  wonder  what  Nina  will  say  to  it.  I 
have  not  heard  her  mention  his  name  lately,  and  I  fancy 
they  have  very  seldom  met.  I  am  to  take  her  to  the 
Martindales'  ball  to-night.  Mamma  is  still  nursing  her 
cold." 

The  season  was  thinning  out;  but  the  Martindales' 
entertainment  was  always  crowded.  Their  rooms  were 
perfect  for  dancing,  and  their  suppers  something  to  eat, 
and  not  to  dream  of  afterward.  The  drive  thither  from 
Carrington  Crescent,  where  Lady  Nitbsdale  picked  up 
her  sister,  was  a  very  short  one.  Nevertheless,  the 
countess  found  time  to  say, — 

"Have  you  heard  the  last  piece  of  news,  Nina  ?     Mis* 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  221 

Welsted,  the  great   heiress,  you   know,  is  engaged  at 
last." 

"Engaged?  Not  to  Regy  Avenel  by  any  chance?" 
the  other  asked,  in  the  listless  way  that  had  come  over 
her  of  late. 

"No  such  luck,"  the  countess  retorted,  pettishly.  "As 
papa  would  say,  a  rank  outsider,  who  ought  never  to  have 
been  in  the  race.  There,  you  would  never  guess.  It's 
your  friend — not  mine,  thank  goodness! — Mr.  Kendall." 

Rose  Nithsdale  was  the  tenderest-hearted  creature 
breathing.  She  would  not  willingly  have  dealt  to  her 
bitterest  enemy  such  a  stab  as  she  now  dealt  to  her  pet 
sister ;  but  she  was  utterly  in  the  dark,  you  must  remem- 
ber, as  to  the  state  of  Nina's  feelings,  and  had  no  reason 
to  suspect  that  she  touched  anything  more  sensitive  than 
a  foolish  fancy,  cured  long  ago. 

Nina  Marston  reared  herself  out  of  the  corner  where 
she  leant,  and  sat  for  a  few  seconds  quite  apart  without 
speaking.  Then  she  said,  in  a  slow,  measured  voice,  like 
a  child  repeating  a  lesson  painfully  learned  by  rote, — 

"  Horace — Kendall — and  this  is  true  ?" 

"Perfectly  true,"  Lady  Nithsdale  returned,  indiffer- 
ently. "Hugh  brought  it  from  the  Sanctorium  this 
afternoon,  and  they  don't  deal  in  canards  there.  A 
curious  piece  of  luck,  isn't  it?  But  you  needn't  look  so 
thunderstricken." 

A  lamp  flashed  in  just  then  on  Nina's  wide  fixed  eyes, 
and  at  the  same  instant  there  flashed  across  Lady  Niths- 
dale's  mind  a  vague  suspicion  of  the  truth — a  suspicion 
which,  had  it  come  a  little  sooner,  would  have  made  her 
bite  her  tongue  through  rather  than  speak  so  carelessly. 

One  word  in  the  last  sentence  was  not  so  ill  chosen, 
after  all.  Walking  along  the  conventional  paths  of  so- 
ciety, with  no  Asmodean  advantages,  we  may  be  re- 
minded now  and  then  of  poor  Duchess  May,  when 

"  She  stood  up  in  bitter  case. 
With  a  pale  and  steadfast  face, 

Toll  slowly. 

Like  a  statue  thunderstrook, 
That,  though  shivered,  seems  to  look 
Right  against  the  thunderplace." 

19* 


222  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

But  before  Lady  Nithsdale  could  put  either  pity  or 
penitence  into  words,  Nina  sunk  back  into  her  corner 
again,  closing  her  eyes. 

"We  shall  see  them  to-night,  I  suppose?"  she  said, 
quite  quietly. 

And  then  Lady  Nithsdale  knew  that,  whatever  sorrow 
might  be  lying  at  her  little  sister's  heart,  there  was  no 
fear  that  the  world  would  be  made  aware  of  it.  She  did 
not  answer  the  half-question ;  but  her  hand  somehow 
stole  into  Nina's,  and  the  girl  held  it  fast  as  one  who, 
even  with  some  such  help,  can  scarcely  master  a  paroxysm 
of  pain.  She  was  holding  it  so  still  when  their  carriage 
stopped  at  the  Martindales'  door. 

As  she  followed  her  sister  up  the  staircase,  she  over- 
heard a  whisper,  "  Looks  wonderfully  handsome  to-night. " 
She  knew  perfectly  well  for  whom  the  remark  was  meant, 
and  smiled  a  saucy  smile,  and  lifted  her  haughty  little 
head  like  a  thorough  Marston.  We  all  know  their  motto 
—"Point  faillir." 

As  the  sisters  passed  through  the  first  door,  they  came 
upon  Avenel,  who  was  evidently  waiting  for  them. 

"  You  are  engaged  to  me  for  the  next  waltz,  Nina, 
remember,"  he  said. 

The  girl  understood  him  quite  well,  and,  as  she  took 
his  arm,  looked  up  into  his  face  gratefully,  and  Lady 
Nithsdale  did  so  partly,  at  least;  for  she  did  not  feel 
surprised,  much  less  vexed,  at  what,  under  any  other 
circumstances,  she  would  have  considered  a  breach  of 
allegiance. 

"Are — are  they  here?"  Nina  asked,  almost  inaudibly, 
when  they  had  made  some  way  through  the  throng. 

"Yes,"  he  answered.  And  so  they  moved  on,  slowly 
and  silently,  till  they  came  over  against  a  group  in  the 
second  saloon,  at  which  man)'  glances  had  already  been 
leveled. 

By  virtue  of  seniority,  Lady  Mandrake  was  the  chief 
personage  therein.  The  aspect  of  the  worthy  dame  was 
decidedly  lowering.  She  sat  there,  upright  and  grim, 
with  the  air  of  one  determined  to  carry  out  to  the  letter 
a  certain  duty  without  dissembling  a  distaste  for  it 
Close  to  her  stood  Horace  Kendall,  who  had  scarcely  yet 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  223 

learned  to  bear  himself  quite  as  becomes  an  accepted 
suitor.  He  had  answered  several  congratulations — for 
the  engagement  was  now  publicly  announced — cleverly 
enough.  Nevertheless,  he  seemed  nervous  and  ill  at  ease, 
and  ever  and  anon  glanced  over  his  shoulder,  as  if  he 
expected  something  or  somebody  to  appear.  Last,  though 
certainly  not  least,  of  the  trio  was  Miss  Welsted  herself. 
Even  a  partial  friend  must  have  allowed  that  the  heiress 
was  not  looking  her  best  that  evening.  The  last  few 
days  had  been  full  of  excitement,  and  excitement  on  san- 
guine complexions  like  hers  tells  very  unbecomingly. 
Somehow,  too,  her  dress— brilliant  azure,  trimmed  with 
lace — rather  seemed  to  enhance  than  to  tone  down  this 
effect. 

"  I  can't  look  at  her  without  humming  '  The  Red, 
White,  and  Blue,'"  Harry  Jekyl  observed.  And  truly 
the  parallel,  though  malicious,  was  not  inapt. 

Seeing  her  chaperon  execute  a  salute  a  la  commandeur 
— Lady  Mandrake  on  this  especial  evening  was  chary  of 
even  such  stony  civilities — Miss  Welsted  looked  up  to- 
see  who  was  thus  favored,  and  so  her  eyes  p,nd  Gwendo- 
line Marston's  met.  The  heiress  was  as  self-possessed 
and  self-reliant  a  person  as  you  could  easily  find;  but  she 
certainly  was  not  equal  to  this  occasion.  She  read  thor- 
oughly well  the  meaning  of  the  satiric  glance  that  roved 
all  over  her  own  expansive  figure,  and  she  knew  quite 
well  that  the  comparison  was  not  drawn  by  herself  alone 
betwixt  those  uncouth  contours  and  the  other's  lithesome 
grace.  Had  she  been  on  speaking  terms  with  her  rival, 
her  position  would  have  been  less  embarrassing.  Any- 
thing, in  fact,  would  have  been  better  than  sitting  there 
helplessly,  conscious  of  growing  hotter  and  redder  every 
instant. 

A  disinterested  bystander  might  have  been  provoked 
if  he  could  have  detected  the  passion  working  then  within 
those  two  women — each  of  them  in  her  own  way  worthy 
of  honest  love — and  have  realized  for  whose  sake  such 
passion  was  stirred.  Nevertheless,  there  was  nothing 
strange  in  this.  All  who  have  read  King  Lear  of  course 
will  remember  how  the  peace  and  honor  of  two  royal 


224  BREAKING   A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

houses  were  wofully  wrecked,  only  that  the  false,  fair- 
faced  bastard  might  be  able  to  boast,  as  he  lay  a-dying, — 

"Yet  Edmund  was  beloved." 

Kendall's  attention  had  been  called  off  for  a  moment ; 
but,  turning  his  head  as  a  person  to  whom  he  had  been 
speaking  passed  on,  he  saw  the  disturbance  on  the  face  of 
his  betrothed  and — its  cause.  To  say  that  he  was  put  to 
confusion  very  faintly  expresses  Horace's  state  of  mind. 
His  cunning — or  tact,  if  you  like  to  call  it  so — could  carry 
him  through  any  small  dilemma;  but  it  was  quite  unequal 
to  atiy  emergency  like  this.  He  was  quick-witted  enough 
to  comprehend  the  significance  of  Nina's  appearance, 
leaning  on  the  arm  of  the  man  who  had  so  lately  put  him 
to  open  shame,  and  to  feel  that  there  could  no  longer  be 
peace,  or  even  a  hollow  truce,  between  himself  and  Lord 
Daventry's  daughter.  Moreover,  he  saw  that  Avenel 
was  well  aware  of  his  embarrassment  and  relished  it 
^keenly.  A  desperate  impulse,  that  he  could-not  after- 
ward account  for,  prompted  him  to  take  a  step  forward, 
half  stretching  out  bis  hand.  A  faint  smile  showed  that 
the  gesture  was  not  lost  on  Lady  Gwendoline  Marston ; 
then,  with  a  slight  bend  of  her  slender  neck,  she  glided 
away  through  an  opening  in  the  throng. 

No  cut  direct  could  have  been  half  so  galling  as  that 
cold,  quiet  farewell ;  and  yet  farewells  less  bitter  have 
been  spoken  on  the  decks  of  outward-bound  ships  by 
those  who  could  never  hope  to  meet  again  on  earth ;  ay, 
and  on  death-beds,  by  those  who,  unless  the  mercy  of 
Heaven  be  boundless,  could  scarcely  hope  to  meet  again 
in  eternity  I 

"You  are  a  trump,  Nina!"  Avenel  muttered;  "you 
did  that  superbly." 

She  glanced  up  at  him  with  the  prettiest  disdain. 

"  Did  you  think  I  was  going  to  scream,  or  faint,  or 
amuse  all  these  people  with  a  scene?  Merci!  Did  you 
not  tell  me  not  so  long  ago  that  I  was  too  young  for  stage 
tricks  ?  I  think  I  am  too  young  to  wear  willow  either, 
even  if  wreaths  were  not  out  of  fashion.  Didn't  they 
look  happy  ?  But  if  happiness  makes  one  look  so  hot 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING  225 

and  red,  I  think  I  should  prefer  a  little  mild  melancholy. 
I  don't  wonder  quite  so  much  now  that  Rosie  found  you 
intractable.  Ah,  you  needn't  look  unconscious ;  I  know 
what  has  been  her  pet  scheme  lately.  She  certainly  is 
overwhelming !" 

"  It  will  take  a  wiser  head  than  Lady  Rose's  to  make 
my  fortune,"  he  answered,  gravely.  "  Though  it's  very 
nice  to  be  schemed  for,  I  should  make  a  poor  prince-con- 
sort for  such  a  tremendous  royalty." 

Not  a  word  was  spoken  afterward  that  the  whole 
world  might  not  have  listened  to.  Her  partners — com- 
paring notes  at  Platt's  far  into  the  small  hours — agreed 
unanimously  that  Gwendoline  Marston  was  in  "ripping 
form"  that  evening ;  and  Lady  Nithsdale,  watching  her 
little  sister  rather  anxiously  for  awhile,  felt  comfortably 
sure  that  no  harm  had  been  done  beyond  a  heart-graze — 
already  nearly  healed.  Let  us  assume  that  they  all  were 
right.  If  we  can  carry  our  own  burdens  lightly,  without 
stooping  or  staggering,  there  is  surely  no  law  that  obliges 
us  to  lay  them  in  the  scale  that  busybodies  may  test  their 
weight  to  a  grain. 

As  the  crowd  closed  in  behind  Avenel  and  his  com- 
panion, Kendall  drew  his  breath  hard,  like  a  man  relieved 
of  some  choking  pressure,  and,  leaning  over  Miss  Wel- 
sted,  tried  to  take  up  the  thread  of  conversation  where 
it  had  been  broken  off  some  minutes  before.  But  that 
he  spoke,  and  she  listened,  under  a  certain  constraint 
was  perfectly  evident.  Lady  Mandrake's  voice  had  sel- 
dom sounded  so  pleasantly  in  Horace's  ears  as  when, 
after  a  whispered  conversation  with  her  charge,  she 
asked  him  to  see  after  her  carriage. 

Soon  afterward  he  found  himself  in  the  smoking-room 
of  his  club,  listening  to  the  comments,  wondering  or  en- 
vious, on  the  brilliant  change  in  his  prospects.  But  all 
this  incense — under  the  semblance  of  unconcern,  he  in- 
haled it  greedily  enough,  Heaven  knows — did  not  so 
possess  Kendall's  braiu  as  to  bring  placid  sleep  or  to 
baffle  the  busy  mockeries  of  Dreamland, 
P 


220  BREAKING  A  BUTTERFLY;    OR, 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

WHEN  the  affianced  couple  met  on  the  following  day, 
no  allusion  was  made  by  either  to  the  rencontre  the  pre- 
vious evening.  Kendall,  of  course,  was  not  likely  to 
broach  the  subject,  and  Mary  Welsted  had  tact  enough 
to  see  that  it  was  best  to  avoid  it.  It  was  abundantly 
clear  that  no  rivalry  or  interference  was  to  be  appre- 
hended thenceforth  from  Gwendoline  Marston,  and,  like 
a  sensible  woman,  she  was  content  to  profit  by  the  present 
without  raking  up  the  past.  Nevertheless, — much,  it  must 
be  owned,  to  Horace's  relief, — it  was  evident  that  she 
neither  expected  nor  desired  demonstrative  love-making, 
and  their  common  future  was  discussed  in  an  exceedingly 
matter-of-fact  way.  Whatever  might  have  been  the 
heiress's  faults,  avarice  was  not  among  them ;  and,  if  her 
own  wishes  could  have  been  carried  out,  there  would 
have  been  little  trouble  on  the  point  of  settlements.  But 
they  were  only  wishes,  after  all. 

Nearly  a  year  had  still  to  elapse  before  she  would  cease 
to  be  a  minor,  and  while  her  wardship  lasted  she  could 
not,  without  the  consent  of  her  guardians,  dispose  of  the 
smallest  portion  of  her  inheritance.  According  to  the 
provisions  of  her  father's  will,  in  case  of  her  dying  un- 
married before  attaining  her  majority,  the  entire  property 
would  pass  to  her  nearest  male  relative — a  Yorkshire 
clergyman,  endowed  with  a  small  living  and  a  large 
family. 

The  testator  hardly  knew  his  cousin  by  sight;  but  he 
knew  him  to  be  an  honest,  honorable  man,  such  a  one  as 
might  be  trusted  with  the  responsibility  of  founding  a 
family.  Though  James  Welsted  had  personally  no  am- 
bition, he  was  not  minded  to  leave  the  distribution  of  his 
great  wealth  to  chance,  or  to  risk  its  being  dribbled  away 
through  many  channels ;  still  less  did  he  fancy  the  idea 
of  its  furnishing  a  piece  de  resistance  for  endless  legal 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  227 

banquets.  This  state  of  things  was  new,  not  to  say 
startling,  to  Horace  Kendall,  and,  though  he  listened 
with  much  outward  complacency,  the  skein  of  his  thoughts 
was  somewhat  raveled. 

Under  the  circumstances,  would  it  not  be  well  to  defer 
the  marriage  some  nine  months,  so  that  the  settlements 
might  be  drawn  up  in  accordance  with  the  heiress's  own 
liberal  notions,  rather  than  trust  to  such  concessions  as 
might  be  wrung  from  the  stern  probity  of  her  guardian — 
a  stiff  customer  to  deal  with,  if  report  spoke  truth? 

On  the  other  hand  was  to  be  taken  into  consideration 
the  danger  of  Mary  Welsted  dying  in  the  interval ;  but, 
reviewing  the  robust  proportions  of  his  betrothed,  Horace 
decided  within  himself  that  the  risk  was  by  no  means  a 
formidable  one.  On  the  whole,  he  thought  he  would  pre- 
fer to  wait.  However,  as  unnecessary  delay  did  not  ap- 
pear to  enter  into  the  lady's  calculations,  he  could  not 
decently  suggest  such  a  thing,  and  was  fain  to  accept  the 
position  with  the  best  possible  grace.  The  heiress  was 
to  have  an  interview  with  her  guardian  that  same  day, 
and  after  this,  perhaps,  he  would  see  his  way  somewhat 
clearer. 

"  What  does  your  mother  say  to  this?"  Miss  Welsted 
asked,  all  at  once.  "You  have  written  to  her,  of 
course  ?" 

Horace  almost  started.  This  was  the  very  first  time 
since  he  left  the  bosom  of  his  family  that  any  one  had 
alluded  to  a  single  member  thereof.  But  his  confusion 
only  lasted  a  minute  or  so. 

"  She  is  in  the  seventh  heaven,  of  course/'  he  answered. 
"How  could  it  be  otherwise?  I  do  wish  I  had  brought  her 
letter  to  show  you,  though  you  would  have  laughed  at  it, 
I  dare  say.  My  poor  mother  has  not  quite  forgotten  yet 
that  she  was  bred  in  Provence,  and  her  fondness  for  me 
amounts  to  infatuation." 

"No,  I  shouldn't  have  laughed;  and  I  shouldn't  have 
considered  her  so  infatuated  as  you  do.  I  wonder  whether 
she'll  like  me  ?  I  am  not  what  is  called  '  a  taking  person,' 
I  am  afraid;  but  I  get  on  pretty  well  with  some  people." 

Any  other  than  Horace  Kendall  would  have  been 
moved  by  the  earnestness  of  the  homely  face;  but  his 


228  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

heart  turned  toward  her  not  a  whit  more  tenderly. 
Neither  then  nor  thereafter  did  one  better  impulse  hal- 
low, were  it  but  for  an  instant,  his  sordid  greed  :  yet,  as 
you  may  fancy,  not  the  less  profuse  was  his  lip-grati- 
tude. 

He  would  not  listen  to  her  if  she  spoke  so  unjustly  of 
herself;  but  before  she  had  known  his  mother  a  day,  she 
would  have  no  such  misgivings.  To  make  them  ac- 
quainted was  the  thing  he  most  wished  ;  only  he  had 
scarcely  liked  to  propose  it.  If  she  would  not  think  her- 
self neglected,  he  would  run  down  to  Swetenham  to-mor- 
row and  persuade  Mrs.  Kendall  to  come  up  to  town  for  a 
week  at  least.  She  was  a  sad  stay-at-home;  but  now  she 
would  gladly  return  with  him,  he  felt  sure.  He  need  not 
be  absent  twenty-four  hours. 

His  distaste  for  the  unlucky  girl  to  whom  he  had 
plighted  his  troth  scarcely  amounted  to  antipathy;  yet 
he  caught  eagerly  at  the  first  excuse  for  absenting  him- 
self from  her  presence.  Before  they  were  riveted,  the 
golden  fetters  began  to  gall ;  and  as  she  laid  her  hand 
upon  his  shoulder,  with  more  of  trust  and  fondness  than 
she  had  hitherto  shown,  it  was  not  compunction  at  the 
lie  he  was  enacting  that  caused  him  to  shrink  ever  so 
little  from  the  caress. 

"  That  is  a  good,  kind  thought,"  she  said,  "  and  I  thank 
you  for  it.  I  hope  you  will  persuade  your  mother  to  re- 
turn with  you ;  but  don't  hurry  her  off  on  my  account. 
I  promise  not  to  think  myself  neglected.  It  will  be  time 
enough  for  you  to  face  this  awful  guardian  of  mine  when 
you  return.  Perhaps  his  growl  will  be  the  worst  part  of 
him,  after  all." 

So,  on  the  following  day,  the  affianced  suitor  betook 
himself  to  Swetenham.  The  fashion  of  his  reception  there 
will  be  easy  to  imagine.  A  quarter  of  a  century's  sojourn 
in  the  land  of  fogs  and  frosts  had  not  sobered  down  Adele 
Deshon  to  the  level  of  decorous  British  matronhood,  and 
she  could  be  passionate  in  her  joys  and  sorrows  still,  on 
much  lighter  provocation  than  now,  when  there  was  a 
prospect  of  her  Prince  Charming  being  installed  in  a  state- 
lier castle  than  she  had  ever  dared  to  build  for  him  in 
Cloudland.  She  was  half  tempted  to  bribe  the  church- 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  229 

ringers  to  welcome  her  son  with  the  full  strength  of  their 
chimes,  and  was  only  restrained  by  the  fear  that  such 
homage  might  be  displeasing  to  its  object,  with  the  uncer- 
tainty of  whose  taste  it  was  not  safe  to  trifle. 

Any  one  who  could  have  assisted  invisibly  at  the  family 
party  must  have  been  struck  by  the  extraordinary  cool- 
ness with  which  Kendall  pere  listened  to  the  details  of 
the  rare  good  fortune  that  had  befallen  his  only  child. 
The  expression  of  his  cold,  crafty  fox-face  could  never 
have  been  mistaken  for  sympathy ;  and  his  small  eyes 
twinkled  rather  with  malicious  cunning  than  parental 
pride.  Soon  after  dinner  he  took  himself  off  on  some  pre- 
text or  other,  and  left  the  two  to  savor  their  triumph. 

The  evening — a  pleasant  one  on  the  whole — did  not 
pass  without  a  slight  difference  of  opinion  betwixt  the 
pair.  This  arose  on  a  suggestion  of  Mrs.  Kendall  that 
her  son  should  write  and  communicate  the  brilliant  change 
in  his  prospects  to  the  squire  of  Vernon  Mallory,  who 
was  still  in  enforced  exile. 

"He  has  had  nothing  but  worry  of  late,  poor  fellow," 
Adele  said,  with  a  sigh ;  "  and  I  know  he  would  be  pleased 
at  the  news  coming  directly  from  you.  This  is  not  the 
time  to  forget  what  we  owe  him." 

Men  of  Kendall's  stamp  are  usually  prone  to  spurn  the 
ladder  by  which  they  have  mounted,  and,  when  the  bridge 
has  once  carried  them  safely  over,  care  not  how  soon  it 
goes  to  ruin  and  wreck. 

"  You  know  best  what  your  own  debts  amount  to, 
mother,"  he  said,  sneeringly.  "A  place  in  the  Rescript 
Office,  and  an  odd  hundred  or  two  to  start  me,  I  think 
about  express  mine.  I  don't  see  why  I  should  trouble 
myself  about  it.  The  news  will  read  quite  as  pleasantly 
when  it  comes  from  you." 

Adele  bit  her  lip — a  bright  scarlet  lip  still — and  the 
color  sunk  in  her  face  as  she  pressed  her  hand  on  her  side. 

"Don't  speak  like  that,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  tremulous 
voice.  "  It  hurts  me.  If  you  won't  do  as  much  on  your 
own  account,  surely  you  will  not  refuse  to  do  it  on  mine  ?" 

The  other,  apparently,  did  not  think  it  worth  while  to 
prolong  the  discussion. 

20 


230  BREAKING  A    BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

"Very  well;  I'll  see  about  it,"  he  grumbled.  And 
with  th  3  concession  his  mother  was  fain  to  be  content. 

Early  on  the  following  day  Dr.  Kendall  required  a  pri- 
vate interview  on  his  own  account.  What  he  had  to  say 
— short,  and  very  much  to  the  point — possibly  did  more 
credit  to  his  head  than  to  his  heart.  There  are  things  so 
unutterably  base  that,  whether  they  occur  in  the  course 
of  fact  or  fiction,  they  are  best  left  unrecorded.  Therefore 
the  arguments  with  which  the  elder  man  enforced  his 
claim — not  an  exorbitant  one,  it  must  be  owned — to  a 
share  in  the  advantages  of  the  proposed  alliance  shall 
have  no  place  here,  specially  as  their  nature  may  easily 
be  guessed. 

In  spite  of  Miss  Welsted's  freedom  from  prejudice  and 
large  democratic  views,  it  is  by  no  means  certain  how  she 
would  have  received  a  secret  that  Dr.  Kendall  might,  had 
he  chosen,  have  revealed.  At  any  rate,  Horace  did  not 
choose  to  make  the  experiment ;  and  he  would  have  pur- 
chased silence  at  a  higher  price  than  was  now  demanded. 
That  he  long  ago  suspected,  and  more  than  suspected,  the 
ugly  truth,  is  most  probable ;  but  this  was  the  first  time 
it  had  been  placed  before  him  in  its  bare  deformity ;  and 
he  went  out  of  his  reputed  father's  presence  much  in  the 
condition  of  a  drummed-out  soldier,  who,  callous  to  all 
other  ignominy,  still  winces  a  little  while  the  smart  of  the 
branding  lasts. 

No  very  hard  words  had  passed  between  the  two.  It 
was  a  question  of  exchange  and  barter,  after  all.  The 
younger  man  was  not  wont  to  waste  his  heroics ;  and  the 
elder,  if  you  had  flung  a  crown-piece  at  his  head  with  a 
curse,  would  have  stooped  contentedly  to  pick  up  the  coin 
out  of  the  kennel. 

Nevertheless,  hardly  any  consideration  short  of  neces- 
sity would  have  tempted  Horace  Kendall  to  tarry  another 
night  under  that  roof.  He  said  as  much  to  his  mother, 
indeed  ;  and,  if  her  preparations  had  not  been  so  simple, 
she  would  have  made  no  demur  about  their  hurried  de- 
parture after  looking  once  into  his  face. 

The  journey  back  to  town  was  not,  strictly  speaking,  a 
blithesome  one.  Though  Kendall  made  not  the  slightest 
allusion  to  the  subject-matter  of  the  morning's  interview, 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  231 

his  sullen  silence  was  significant  enough,  even  without 
the  scowl  that  ever  and  anon  shot  from  under  his  bent 
brows  ;  and  Adele's  flushed  cheeks  and  drooping  eyelids 
showed  that  there  was  womanliness  enough  left  in  her 
warped  nature  to  make  her  feel  ill  at  ease  in  the  presence 
of  her  son,  since  she  knew  him  to  have  been  made  aware, 
beyond  the  possibility  of  a  doubt,  of  her  ancient  shame. 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  radiant  than  the  de- 
meanor of  the  pair  when,  on  the  following  morning,  they 
had  audience  of  Miss  Welsted.  Certainly  the  latter  need 
not  have  disquieted  herself  as  to  how  she  would  be  wel- 
comed by  her  future  mother-in-law.  Perhaps  a  person  of 
more  refined  taste  might  have  been  somewhat  oppressed 
by  Mrs.  Kendall's  "  gushing ;"  but  the  heiress  rather  liked 
it  than  otherwise.  It  had  the  charm  of  novelty;  for  her 
lot  had  hitherto  been  cast  among  staid  and  steady  people, 
and  anything  that  was  overstrained  she  set  down  to  Pro- 
vencal enthusiasm. 

So  everything  went  swimmingly  on.  The  formidable 
guardian — though  he  evidently  regarded  his  ward's  choice 
with  no  great  admiration  or  favor — showed  himself  more 
tractable  than  had  been  expected  ;  and  before  a  week  had 
passed  Horace  congratulated  himself  on  not  having  hinted 
at  the  possibility  of  delay  in  completing  the  contract. 

Miss  Welsted's  presence  at  Kineton  for  awhile  was 
for  many  reasons  desirable ;  so  she  proceeded  thither — 
escorted  by  Mr.  Garden,  her  guardian,  and  her  quondam 
governess,  who  had  for  some  time  past  performed  such 
sheep-dog  duty  as  it  was  beneath  Lady  Mandrake's  dig- 
nity to  undertake.  That  excellent  chaperon  bade  adieu 
to  her  charge  with  much  civility  and  kindness;  but  she 
did  not  precisely  weep  upon  her  neck,  as  she  would  prob- 
ably have  done  had  the  match  been  of  her  own  making. 
It  was  with  a  certain  reluctance — she  was  so  hampered 
by  engagements,  she  said — that  she  promised  positively 
to  be  present  at  the  nuptials,  that  were  to  take  place  early 
in  September. 

Although  Horace  could  hardly  be  said  to  miss  his  be- 
trothed, the  days  ensuing  her  departure  dragged  some- 
what heavily.  They  were  days  of  perfect  liberty,  too, 
and  the  laziest  Sybarite  would  not  have  murmured  at 


232  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

occasional  visits  to  Lincoln's-inn  on  such  pleasant  busi- 
ness. However,  he  regretted  now  and  then  that  he  had 
resigned  his  appointment  in  the  Rescript  Office  so  hastily. 
He  knew  himself  to  be  no  favorite  there,  and  did  not 
flatter  himself  that  the  congratulations  of  his  former 
fellows  would  be  very  sincere  ;  but,  if  he  had  got  no  sym- 
pathy, he  would  at  least  have  known  that  he  was  envied 
— no  mean  satisfaction  ;  it  was  a  capital  lounging-place, 
for  the  work  was  nearly  always  nominal.  He  had  not 
even  his  mother  to  talk  to  or  to  tease,  for  Mrs.  Kendall 
left  town  the  day  after  Miss  Welsted. 

The  general  exodus  was  now  in  full  progress,  and  a 
more  popular  man  than  Kendall  would  not  seldom  have 
been  condemned  to  a  solitary  club-dinner.  As  he  walked 
home  after  one  of  those  dreary  repasts,  he  felt  inclined  to 
quarrel  with  the  conventionalities  which  prevented  him 
just  now  from  being  a  guest  at  Kineton.  If  the  place 
were  ever  so  dull  it  would  be  his  own,  or  virtually  his 
own,  very  soon ;  and  the  sense  of  proprietorship  would 
make  his  walks  abroad  there  rather  pleasant.  He  was 
tempted  to  invent  some  decent  pretext  that  might  excuse 
his  running  down,  if  only  for  a  day.  A  little  solitude  will 
work  wonders  sometimes,  in  forcing  domestic  affections 
that  otherwise  would  be  slow  in  flowering. 

A  reading-lamp  was  burning  in  his  sitting-room  when 
he  entered  it.  He  glanced  carelessly  at  his  writing-table, 
where  his  letters  were  usually  laid,  to  see  if  any  had  come 
by  the  last  post.  There  were  no  letters ;  but  there  was — 
a  telegram. 

The  feats  of  the  electric  battery  stand  clearly  first  and 
foremost  among  the  achievements  of  this  wonder-working 
century :  nevertheless,  I  have  great  doubts  whether  the 
.span  of  human  existence  is  not  materially  affected  by 
the  additional  strain  on  the  nerves.  Gamblers  on  the 
Turf  or  Stock  Exchange,  or  even  perfectly  legitimate 
speculators,  doubtless  get  used  to  it.  They  flinch  no 
more  before  the  dusky-yellow  envelopes  than  others  do 
before  the  blue-wove  packets,  directed  in  a  fair  clerkly 
hand,  that  add  so  materially  to  the  merriment  of  each 
Christmastide.  But  nine  ordinary  people  out  often  will 
be  sensible  of  a  certain  sinking  of  the  heart  at  first  sight 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  233 

of  one  of  these  messages,  the  import  whereof  they  cannot 
guess — or  guess  only  too  truly. 

"  111  news  travel  apace,"  was  a  proverb  in  vogue  long 
before  Volta  was  born  ;  and  even  nowadays,  when  our 
ships  come  in,  our  correspondents  are  content  as  a  rule  to 
advise  us  thereof  by  post.  It  is  only  when  they  have  a 
wreck  to  announce — the  wreck  perchance  of  our  very  last 
venture — that  they  work  the  wires  with  a  will. 

Kendall  would  have  treated  any  possible  disaster  that 
could  have  befallen  his  neighbor  with  a  calm  philosophy  ; 
but  when  it  was  a  question  of  his  own  misfortune,  his 
sensibilities  were  wonderfully  keen,  and  you  would  not 
have  supposed  that  a  grain  of  stoicism  was  to  be  found 
in  his  whole  composition.  He  felt  sick  and  faint  as  he 
took  up  the  ominous  missive,  and_his  hand  shook  as  he 
opened  it.  This  is  what  he  read : — 

"  Kineton,  5.30  P.M. 

" A  fearful  accident  has  happened.    Come  immediately. 

"J.  GARDEN." 

Not  a  word  as  to  who  was  the  sufferer ;  but  that  was 
quite  needless.  There  was  but  one  life  at  Kineton  in 
which  he  had  any  interest,  and  this  life,  he  knew  very 
well,  was  the  one  imperiled,  if  not  already  ended.  Poring 
over  the  paper  in  a  dull,  mechanical  way,  he  became  at 
last  aware,  from  the  date  of  its  delivery  at  the  London 
office,  that  the  message  must  have  arrived  within  a  few 
minutes  of  the  time  when  he  went  out  after  dressing.  '  If 
he  had  got  it  then,  he  might  just  have  caught  the  down- 
mail  ;  now,  it  was  impossible  to  start  before  morning. 

He  had  but  just  sense  to  realize  this:  he  realized  little 
more  as  he  sat  there  staring  with  haggard,  vacant  eyes. 
Among  all  the  feelings  seething  within  him  there  was  not 
one  with  which  an  honest  man  or  woman  would  sympa- 
thize ;  yet  if  any  of  you  who  read  these  pages  have  spent 
one  of  those  awful  periods  of  enforced  inaction,  when  your 
presence  is  urgently  needed  at  some  tragedy  being  enacted 
elsewhere,  you  may,  perchance,  hold  even  such  a  creature 
as  this  not  wholly  undeserving  of  pity.  The  brandy  that 

20* 


234  BREAKING   A    BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

he  drank  in  the  course  of  the  night  would  have  stupefied 
him  at  any  other  time,  but  now  it  only  steadied  his  hands 
enough  to  enable  them  to  pack  a  few  necessaries  that  he 
must  take  with  him  ;  for  before  his  servant,  who  slept 
out  of  the  house,  could  come  in  the  morning,  Horace 
hoped  to  be  miles  away. 

He  got  to  the  station  somehow,  and  took  the  first  train, 
though  it  was  one  of  the  slowest,  and  reached  Kineton 
but  little  earlier  than  the  express  starting  two  hours  later. 
But  motion  ever  so  dilatory  was  better  than  sitting  still. 
When  he  reached  his  destination  at  last,  he  found  a  dog- 
cart waiting  for  him. 

"How  is  your  mistress?"  he  asked  of  the  groom 
standing  at  the  horse's  head. 

Kendall's  voice  was  so  husky  and  low  that  the  man  had 
almost  to  guess  at  the  words  ;  but,  knowing  what  the  first 
question  would  be,  he  had  his  answer  ready. 

"  Mortal  bad,  sir.  We  all  hoped  you'd  ha'  come  by  the 
night-mail.  I  'most  doubt  if  you  will  find  her  alive  now. 
You  had  better  let  me  drive,  please." — Kendall  was 
fumbling  helplessly  with  the  reins.—"  The  mare's  a  bit 
awkward  till  she  gets  into  your  hands,  and  we  haven't  a 
minute  to  spare." 

The  distance  was  not  great,  and  the  trotting  mare  did  it 
in  fair  match-time  ;  but  before  they  drew  up  at  Kineton 
hall-door  Horace  had  heard  all  the  details  of  the  disaster. 

Miss  Welsted  had  gone  out  in  her  pony-carriage  as 
usual.  The  tiger  occupying  the  tiny  back-seat  was  a 
mere  child ;  and  she  had  no  other  attendant,  for  the  gouver- 
nante  who  usually  accompanied  her  chanced  to  be  unwell 
that  afternoon.  Her  ponies  were  young  and  rather  hot ; 
but  she  had  driven  them  several  times  before,  and  they 
had  never  shown  any  symptom  of  vice.  The  flies  had 
fretted  them,  perhaps,  while  they  were  standing,  for  they 
pulled  more  than  usual,  even  at  starting ;  but  Miss  Wel- 
sted, being  strong  in  the  wrist  and  perfectly  fearless, — 
though  by  no  means  a  scientific  whip, — rather  liked  this 
than  otherwise.  They  were  about  half-way  down  the 
avenue  that  led  to  the  lodge-gates,  when  one  of  the  High- 
land cattle  feeding  in  the  park  rose  suddenly  from  behind 
a  patch  of  fern  and  bolted  across  the  road.  The  ponies 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  235 

gave  a  mad  bound  that  started  every  bolt  in  the  fore- 
carriage,  and  the  next  instant  they  were  away. 

The  solitary  witness  of  what  happened  afterward,  be- 
sides being  stunned  at  the  time,  was  too  stupefied  with 
terror  and  grief  to  give  a  very  clear  account  of  it. 

"  His  mistress  did  not  seem  much  frightened,"  he  said; 
"and  she  never  screamed  out  once.  But  as  they  tore 
round  the  last  turn  and  came  in  sight  of  the  lodge,  he 
heard  her  say,  quite  softly,  '  God  help  us  !  They  are 
shut !'  Then  he  stood  up  and  screamed  with  all  his  might 
to  open  the  gates:  but  the  lodge-keeper  ran  out  a  second 
too  late." 

Perhaps  the  runaways  could  not  have  stopped  them- 
selves then  if  they  would.  At  any  rate,  they  never 
slackened  their  pace,  but  crashed  full  front  against  the 
bars.  The  shock  pitched  the  lad — a  mere  feather-weight 
— sheer  over  the  fence  among  the  garden-shrubs.  When 
his  senses  came  back,  he  saw  among  the  wreck  of  iron 
and  wood — for  the  gates  too  were  shattered — one  of  the 
ponies  stone-dead  and  the  other  helplessly  maimed,  and 
his  mistress  in  the  lodge-keeper's  arms — lying  white  and 
still. 

Mary  Welsted  was  not  dead ;  though  when  the  doctor 
saw  her  half  an  hour  afterward  he  decided  it  to  be  a 
desperate  case  of  brain-concussion,  and  all  the  science 
that  was  soon  summoned  to  her  aid  only  confirmed  that 
verdict. 

Mr.  Garden  met  Kendall  in  the  hall  as  he  entered, 
and  beckoned  him  into  the  library.  The  old  man's  face 
was  very  sorrowful,  and  bis  eyelids,  perhaps,  were  heavy 
with  something  else  besides  a  long  night's  watch.  His 
manner  was  infinitely  more  cordial  now  than  when,  a 
fortnight  ago,  he  went  through  the  forms  of  congratu- 
lation. 

"  I  pity  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,"  he  said. 
"  It  may  be  some  slight  comfort  to  know  that  you  have 
aot  come  too  late,  and  that  if  you  had  come  last  night  it 
«vould  have  availed  nothing.  She  has  never  spoken  since, 
or  even  opened  her  eyes." 

"Is  there  no  hope?"  Horace  asked,  faintly. 

"Absolutely  none.     Indeed,  we  ought  to  hope  that  the 


236  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

release  will  come  speedily.  You  will  know  why  when 
you  have  seen  her.  Will  you  come  at  once  ?" 

They  went  up-stairs  together.  On  the  first  landing 
Kendall  stood  still,  listening  and  trembling. 

Down  the  corridor  from  a  room  at  the* farther  end  there 
came  a  sound  such  as  few  can  hear  for  the  first  time  un- 
awed — a  sound  which,  once  heard,  is  not  easily  forgotten 
— a  sound  more  terrible  in  its  monotony  than  any  sharp, 
sudden  cry — a  sound  which,  though  it  savors  of  both,  is 
neither  gasp  nor  groan — a  sound  that  forces  us,  in  our 
own  despite,  to  believe  that  unconsciousness  is  not  insen- 
sibility— a  sound  perhaps  more  significant  than  any  other 
of  the  prolonged  agony  of  a  parting  soul. 

"  It  has  gone  on  so  ever  since  she  was  brought  in," 
Mr.  Garden  said,  answering  the  other's  look  of  frightened 
inquiry.  "  They  have  tried  trepanning  without  the  slight- 
est effect.  I  don't  wonder  that  you  are  overcome.  It 
has  tried  us  all  fearfully." 

Kendall  paused  a  minute  or  two,  and  then  spoke  in  a 
weak,  hesitating  voice: — 

"  If  there  is  no  chance  of  her  knowing  me,  do  you  think 
I  had  better " 

The  elder  man's  face  changed  from  compassion  to  con- 
tempt. 

"  Do  I  think  you  had  better  go  in  at  once  ?"  he  said, 
very  coldly.  "  Unquestionably  I  think  so.  You  will  act 
as  you  think  fit,  of  course.  My  duty  was  clearly  to  bring 
you  here ;  and  I  have  done  it." 

Horace  could  not  for  very  shame  hang  back. 

"  You — quite  misunderstand  me,"  he  stammered  out ; 
and  so  passed  on,  and  in  through  the  door  standing  ajar. 

The  room  was  darkened  ;  but,  as  Kendall  entered,  one 
of  the  attendants  drew  a  curtain  partly  aside,  so  that  a 
thin  column  of  light  streamed  in  on  the  death-bed.  There 
was  nothing  there  very  shocking  to  the  eye.  The  fatal 
blow  had  left  little  outward  trace,  and  besides  that  terri- 
ble moaning  she  gave  no  signs  of  life;  this — the  doctor, 
standing  by  the  bedside,  whispered-"— was  growing  fainter 
and  fainter. 

Putting  great  force  upon  himself,  Horace  came  near  and 
pressed  his  lips  on  the  pale  hands,  motionless  save  for  a 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  237 

slight  twitching  of  the  fingers.  Even  at  such  a  moment 
he  could  spare  no  tenderer  caress  for  the  woman  who 
would  have  given  him  all.  Then  he  sat  down  apart,  with 
his  face  buried  in  his  hand. 

All  those  present,  with  the  exception  of  Mr.  Garden, 
gave  him  credit  for  natural  emotion,  and  pitied  him  ac- 
cordingly. If  they  could  have  perused  his  thoughts,  per- 
haps they  would  not  have  been  so  liberal  of  sympathy. 
He  was  utterly  crushed  by  the  suddenness  and  complete- 
ness of  the  blow ;  but  his  regrets  were  almost  purely 
selfish.  For  the  poor  girl  who  lay  a-dying  he  felt  much 
the  same  vague,  careless  compassion  as  a  speculator 
would  give  to  the  laborers  drowned  by  the  flooding  of  his 
favorite  mine. 

Minutes,  under  such  circumstances,  are  not  counted  by 
the  clock.  Though  the  silence,  broken  only  by  brief 
whispers,  seemed  to  Horace  endless,  it  had  not  perhaps 
lasted  a  quarter  of  an  hour  when  the  moaning  grew  per- 
ceptibly fainter,  and  was  succeeded  by  heavy,  labored 
breathing ;  and  then  the  doctor  said,  speaking  for  the  first 
time  above  his  breath, — 

"  She  is  going  fast." 

The  agony,  if  such  it  had  been,  had  spent  itself;  but 
in  the  last  moments  pf  life  a  faint  gleam  of  consciousness 
seemed  to  cross  the  poor  dizzy  brain  ;  for  her  eyes  were 
half  unclosed,  though  it  was  evident  that  she  recognized 
no  one,  and  her  right  hand  groped  feebly  on  the  cover- 
let, as  if  it  searched  for  some  other  hand. 

Mr.  Garden  glanced  over  his  shoulder  at  Kendall,  who 
had  drawn  near  with  the  rest :  then,  seeing  that  Horace 
stood  helpless  and  irresolute,  he  bent  down  and  took  the 
quivering  fingers  into  his  own. 

And  so,  holding  an  honest  man's  hand  after  all,  Mary 
Welsted  passed  away,  we  may  hope,  into  some  better 
abiding  place  than  the  Fools'  Paradise  whereunto  she  had 
aspired. 

Kendall's  first  impulse,  when  all  was  over,  was  to  es- 
cape as  speedily  as  possible  from  the  scene  of  the  disas- 
ter. It  was  bitterly  true  that  he  had  no  business  at  Kine- 
ton  now  ;  neither,  truth  to  speak,  did  Mr.  Garden  seem 
specially  anxious  to  detain  him.  It  was  settled,  as  a 


238  BREAKING  A  BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

matter  of  course,  that  Horace  should  be  present  at  the 
funeral ;  and  in  the  course  of  the  same  afternoon  he  took 
his  departure. 

Certain  half-hours  cut  a  deeper  notch  in  a  man's  life 
than  the  average  of  years  will  leave.  Horace's  drive 
back  to  the  station  was  one  of  such.  The  soft  summer 
breeze  sweeping  through  the  tall  elms  of  the  avenue 
seemed  to  murmur  mockery.  There  was  insolence  in  the 
aspect  of  the  ample  corn-lands,  red-ripe  for  the  sickle,  and 
in  the  greenery  of  the  broad  meadows  dotted  thickly  with 
fat  kine.  On  all  this,  one  day — and  no  distant  day  either 
— he  was  to  have  looked  as  lord  and  master.  How  did 
he  look  on  them  now  ?  His  face  was  so  far  a  tell-tale 
that  even  the  stolid  Loamshire  man,  sitting  by  his  side, 
partly  guessed  at  the  color  of  his  musings,  and  was  rather 
inclined  to  rejoice  than  to  repine  when  the  other  dismissed 
him  at  their  journey's  end  without  any  offer  of  gratuity. 

"  He  looked  a  precious  sight  more  sulky  than  sorry," 
the  groom  remarked,  afterward.  "  He's  a  bitter  bad  devil, 
I  reckon.  If  the  poor  missus  had  lived,  she'd  ha'  repented 
of  her  bargain  pretty  often." 

In  very  truth,  it  was  long  before  Horace  Kendall 
emerged  from  that  savage  desperation  which  has  tempted, 
or  well-nigh  tempted,  certain  professing  Christians  to 
"curse  God,  and  die."  However,  there  is  method  even 
in  the  madness  of  some  folk.  To  the  blasphemy  our 

friend  was  fully  equal,  but  as  for  the  death In  spite 

of  these  losses  and  reverses,  it  is  probable  that  this  deli- 
cate plant  will  flourish  when  hardier  and  nobler  trees  are 
dust. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  239 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE  glory  of  autumn  was  waning  in  the  western  high- 
lands. The  rich  contrasts  of  color — for  Wildernesse,  like 
a  mere  mortal,  seeks  ever  by  gorgeous  apparel  to  dis- 
semble her  decline — were  giving  place  rapidly  to  sober 
russets  and  grays.  The  wind  swept  keenly  down  the 
gullies  with  an  ominous  whistle,  and  had  had  a  skirmish 
or  two  already  with  the  pines  in  prelude  to  their  winter 
battle.  The  loch  was  seldom  calm  enough  now  to  mirror 
birch  or  oak,  and  such  shadows  were  thinner  where  they 
fell.  .  The  grouse-cocks  crowed  defiantly  on  the  moor- 
land ;  for,  standing  erect,  each  on  his  own  tussock,  all 
ear  and  eye,  they  might  afford  to  set  at  naught  the  wiles 
of  the  fowler.  A  few  chances  in  sheltered  hollows  where 
there  was  still  feeding-ground,  or  a  long-shot  in  rounding 
the  shoulder  of  a  hill,  were  about  all  you  could  expect; 
and  it  was  a  little  too  early  for  good  cover-shooting  as 
yet.  At  such  a  season  a  man's  thoughts,  unless  he  be 
very  keen  on  sport,  are  apt  to  follow  in  the  track  of  the 
swallow. 

Now,  Mark  Ramsay  was  by  no  means  an  inveterate 
gunner,  and  when  his  destructive  duties  had  been  duly 
performed,  one  would  have  thought  that  his  inclinations 
would  have  tended  southward ;  but  he  seemed  perfectly 
content  to  abide  at  Kenlis.  Once,  when  his  wife  ven- 
tured to  question  him  as  to  the  probable  time  of  their 
removing,  he  contrived  to  evade  a  direct  reply;  and, 
though  there  was  no  impatience  in  his  manner,  it  was 
evident  that  he  did  not  choose  to  be  pressed  on  the  sub- 
ject. 

The  castle  party — speaking  of  those  actually  resident 
there — wras  narrowed  down  to  three.  Alsager  and  Vane 
had  gone  their  several  ways  some  time  ago ;  and  a  week 
later  Mr.  Brancepeth,  too,  had  left  on  a  tour  of  lowland 
and  north-country  visits  that  would  bring  him  home  by 


240  BREAKING   A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

leisurely  stages.  Lady  Laura  was  to'  have  borne  her 
husband  company  throughout;  but  though,  when  her 
friends  spoke  of  departure,  Blanche  made  no  objection  in 
words,  the  piteous  pleading  in  her  eyes  was  quite  too 
much  for  La  Reine  Gaillarde,  who  without  more  ado 
cast  her  engagements  to  the  winds,  utterly  setting  at 
naught  the  resentment  of  her  ill-used  acquaintance,  and 
making  very  light  of  her  lord's  grumbling. 

"  Don't  you  pretend  to  be  helpless,"  she  said,  "  but  go 
off  and  enjoy  yourself  like  a  man — or  rather  like  a  single 
man.  You  don't  often  get  such  a  chance,  you  know.  If 
you  get  into  any  mischief — provided  it  isn't  very  bad 
mischief — I'll  try  to  forgive  you." 

Perhaps  Mr.  Brancepeth  was  rather  flattered  at  being 
still  considered  capable  of  a  peccadillo,  or  the  very  idea 
was  too  much  for  his  gravity.  At  any  rate — solutis  risu 
tabulis — it  was  amicably  settled  that  Lady  Laura  should 
remain  at  Kenlis  till  the  Ramsays  could  escort  her  south. 

La  Reine  was  by  no  means  an  exemplary  matron.  I 
do  not  mean  to  imply  that  her  sins,  either  of  omission  or 
commission,  would  have  brought  her  under  the  ban  of 
any  criminal  code ;  but  with  her  reckless  words  and  ac- 
tions she  very  often  proved  a  rock  of  offense  to  her  weaker 
sisters.  As  for  the  strong-minded  ones — the  stones  they 
had  already  would  have  made  a  goodly  cairn.  Never- 
theless, it  is  probable  that  certain  famous  fanatics  would 
have  haggled  awhile  with  their  consciences  before  com- 
pleting such  a  self-sacrifice  as  she  now  decided  on  un- 
hesitatingly. She  knew  perfectly  well  that  at  most  of  the 
halting-places  above  mentioned  there  would  be  ample 
provision  of  the  amusements  in  which  her  soul  delighted. 
She  was  sure  to  foregather  there  with  more  than  one  of 
her  special  favorites — indeed,  divers  pleasant  plans  had 
been  laid  already  with  a  view  to  such  meetings :  hardest 
trial  of  all,  she  knew  that  certain  of  her  rivals,  with  the 
advantage  of  a  start  and  clear  course,  would  make  play, 
and  want  some  catching  whenever  she  should  take  up 
the  running  again.  Yet  she  accepted  quite  readily  the 
prospect  of  comparative  solitude,  without  a  chance  of  the 
mildest  flirtation,  or  of  a  break  to  the  monotony  of  the 
days  following  and  resembling  each  other,  beyond  an 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  241 

occasional  scamper  on  the  back  of  a  hill-pony,  or  a  sail 
on  the  loch  when  the  wind  was  not  too  wild. 

Laura  took  no  credit  to  herself  for  all  this.  To  stand 
by  a  friend  in  need  seemed  to  her  the  simplest  thing  in 
nature,  and  not  in  any  wise  to  be  regarded  as  a  penance, 
or  even  as  an  exceptional  duty.  Nevertheless,  it  seems 
to  me  that  charities  less  worthy  of  record  have  been 
celebrated  in  pompous  phrase  on  lettered  tombstones. 

Certainly,  few  could  have  looked  in  Blanche  Ramsay's 
face  without  feeling  that  her  need  of  support,  if  not  of 
succor,  was  very  sore.  The  melancholy  which  had  as- 
sailed her  by  fits  and  starts  in  the  early  days  of  her  resi- 
dence at  Kenlis  had  fairly  mastered  her  now,  and  seldom 
loosened  its  grasp,  strive  or  struggle  as  she  would.  But 
there  was  a  cause  for  it  now — a  cause  that,  ere  this,  has 
made  braver  and  brighter  birds  than  this  little  Oriole  sit 
moping  with  dull  eyes  and  plumage  unpreened,  while 
their  mate  was  soaring  apace  through  all  other  tracks  of 
air  rather  than  the  one  which  led  nestward. 

To  speak  plainly,  though  she  had  not  as  yet  made  a 
confidante  even  of  Laura  Brancepeth,  Blanche  had  long 
ago  confessed  to  herself  that  she  was  jealous  in  real  earn- 
est. The  cause  of  that  jealousy  you  will  easily  guess. 

I  have  said  that  the  actual  residents  of  the  castle  num- 
bered only  three;  but  whether  the  Irvings  could  be  con- 
sidered as  non-residents  might  fairly  have  been  questioned. 
Assuredly,  much  more  of  their  time  was  spent  at  Kenlis 
than  in  their  own  home ;  and  during  the  brief  intervals 
of  their  absence,  it  might  have  been  remarked  that  some 
business  generally  called  away  Ramsay  on  such  distant 
expeditions  as  engrossed  all  the  time  betwixt  breakfast 
and  dinner.  Once,  and  once  only,  he  had  avowedly  gone 
over  to  Drumour.  He  went  there  alone,  for  a  single 
night,  to  help  to  fill  some  game-boxes  that  Captain 
Irving  wanted  to  send  off  south ;  but  it  is  to  be  presumed 
that  the  grouse  were  wilder  than  usual,  for  it  was  the 
third  day  before  he  returned  to  Kenlis. 

Even  in  his  hot  youth,  Mark  had  always  to  a  certain 

extent  acted  caute,  si  non  caste,  and  he  was  still  less  likely 

to  parade  his  indiscretions  now.     While  conversing  with 

Alice  Irving  his  voice  rarely  sunk  below  its  ordinary 

Q  21 


242  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

tone,  and  very  rarely  were  the  glances  of  either  more  ex- 
pressive than  familiar  acquaintance  would  warrant.  He 
never  pretended  to  engross  her  attention,  or  seemed 
jealous  at  seeing  it  bestowed  on  another.  Nevertheless, 
a  mere  stranger,  after  being  an  hour  in  their  company, 
would  probably  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  a  singu- 
larly good  understanding  existed  betwixt  the  two.  There 
is  a  subtle  mesmerism  in  these  affinities  that,  without 
being  at  all  contagious,  makes  others  besides  those  directly 
influenced  by  them  conscious  of  their  existence. 

Laura  Brancepeth  —  neither  a  stranger  nor  disinter- 
ested— fully  appreciated  the  state  of  things,  and  chafed 
under  it  hourly ;  but  with  all  her  impulsiveness  she  was 
far  too  well  versed  in  the  world's  ways  to  interfere  by 
word  or  gesture,  or  to  broach  the  subject  till  Blanche  her- 
self should  think  fit«lo  do  so.  Though  she  had  rather  a 
knack  at  travestying  proverbs,  she  had  got  that  one  about 
a  tree  and  its  bark  pretty  straight,  and  on  more  than  one 
similar  occasion  had  found  the  benefit  of  acting  there- 
upon. But  if  it  was  occasionally  pain  and  grief  to  the 
friend  to  keep  silence,  how,  think  you,  did  it  fare  with  the 
wife? 

A  dangerously  deep  game  was  being  played  up  yonder, 
and  the  players  did  not  start  on  level  terms.  Comparing 
great  things  with  small,  any  one  who  has  often  looked  on 
at  really  high  whist  must  have  seen  a  parallel  case  scores 
of  times.  Do  we  not  know  him — the  light-minded  game- 
ster, utterly  incorrigible  in  the  error  of  his  ways,  and  proof 
against  reproach  or  sarcasm — who,  having  trusted  once 
too  often  to  his  luck,  accepts  the  position  quite  hilariously, 
treating  his  blunders  as  if  they  were  part  and  parcel  of 
an  elaborate  joke  ?  And  we,  the  bystanders,  laugh  with 
quite  as  much  as  at  him,  and  think,  "What  a  good  loser 
he  is  !"  contrasting  his  bearing  very  favorably  with  that 
of  his  partner,  who,  it  is  evident,  does  not  relish  the  jest 
quite  so  keenly;  for  every  point  lost  to  themselves,  or 
scored  by  their  adversaries,  has  told  on  that  other  face — 
anxious  enough  when  the  play  began.  Now,  it  does  not 
follow  of  necessity  that  difference  of  temperament  has 
anything  to  do  with  this  difference  in  the  demeanor.  It 
may  well  be  that,  as  they  walk  homeward  to-night,  one 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  243 

man  will  confess  to  himself,  if  he  reflects  at  all,  that  the 
purchase  of  that  peacocky  park-hack  must  be  deferred,  or 
that  Coralie  must  be  balked  of  her  latest  whim  in  jewelry ; 
while  the  other  will  be  racking  his  brain,  overstrained 
already,  with  reckoning  up  the  resources  wherewith  he 
may  once  again  tempt  Fortune.  And  if  he  be  not  quite 
case-hardened  against  remorse,  he  may  perhaps  remember 
having  heard  long  ago  that  "it  is  not  meet  to  take  the 
children's  bread  and  cast  it  to  dogs." 

It  was  not  of  her  own  free  will  that  Blanche  Ramsay 
was  playing  so  perilously.  Her  position  had  been  simply 
forced  upon  her ;  but  it  was  none  the  less  true  that  her 
very  last  stake  was  now  involved.  Considering  all  things, 
her  self-possession  and  self-control  were  something  won- 
derful. Jf  the  tie  binding  her  to  Mark  grew  frailer  daily, 
no  fault  of  hers  brought  it  to  breaking-strain.  Peevish, 
or  plaintive,  or  sullen  she  never  was,  and  if  her  face  some- 
times looked  a  little  sad  or  weary,  a  gentle  word  from 
him  would  always  bring  the  light  back  again,  if  it  lapsed 
not  long.  So  much  even  he  was  fain  to  confess,  thinking 
over  these  things  in  the  after-time. 

As  for  Mark,  he  was  simply  following  up  his  fancy,  as 
he  had  done  a  score  of  times  before,  utterly  regardless  of 
the  distinctions  between  right  and  wrong,  faith  and  false- 
hood, cruelty  and  compassion ;  it  was  his  fancy  so  far — 
no  more.  In  such  a  nature  as  his,  love,  as  honest  men 
define  it,  had  no  more  chance  of  ripening  than  the  golden 
grain  scattered  among  desert  stones.  He  had  not  begun 
to  dislike  Blanche  as  yet,  and  found  her  sufficiently  com- 
panionable still,  when  he  had  time  to  spare;  but  such 
hours  as  were  spent  in  the  shadow  of  Fontainebleau  rocks 
would  never  come  again,  and  the  soft  white  hand  that  he 
was  then  so  fond  of  toying  with  was  powerless  now  to 
keep  him  from  straying. 

What  Alice  Irving  had  at  stake  would  be  hard  to  de- 
termine. It  is  possible,  indeed,  that  she  had  not  yet  defined 
it  to  herself.  She  was  no  novice  at  the  game,  that  was 
clear;  and,  being  conscious  of  the  strength  of  her  hand, 
was  content  to  play  it  warily  without  forcing  the  chances. 
With  her  demeanor  toward  Blanche,  La  Reine  herself 
could  not  quarrel.  Not  a  single  act,  or  word,  or  look 


244  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

could  fairly  be  called  presumptuous.  She  deferred  in  all 
things  to  her  hostess  beyond  what  may  reasonably  be 
expected  from  the  meekest  of  guests ;  and  if  any  point, 
howsoever  trivial,  was  referred  to  her  decision,  she  inva- 
riably withheld  it  till  she  was  certain  of  not  running 
counter  to  the  slightest  wish  of  Mrs.  Ramsay.  And  the 
other  paid  her  back  in  kind.  No  stranger  coming  to  Kenlis 
would  have  guessed  that  Alice  Irving's  presence  was  less 
welcome  to  its  chatelaine  than  it  was  the  first  time  she 
set  foot  therein. 

So  things  went  on  with  admirable  surface-smoothness; 
but,  go  as  smoothly  as  they  would,  the  time  came  when 
Mark  could  no  longer  delay  a  move  southward,  especially 
as  Laura  Brancepeth  was  waiting  for  his  escort.  He  said 
as  much  to  Captain  Irving  one  night  as  they  were  finish- 
ing their  partie. 

The  other  shrugged  his  shoulders  rather  ruefully. 

"  I've  been  expecting  this  any  time  these  three  weeks. 
You're  thoroughly  right  to  go.  I  wonder  at  any  one . 
staying  here  after  the  fall  of  the  first  leaves,  who  isn't 
shackled  down  as  I  am.  I  should  have  liked  above  all 
things  to  spend  this  winter  in  town  with  Alice — leaving 
her  at  Kenlis  alone  is  out  of  the  question,  of  course — but 
I  simply  can't  afford  it.  The  fat  kine  have  never  much 
favored  our  pastures;  and  this  is  one  of  our  famine-years. 
I'd  have  strained  a  point  or  two  for  her  sake  if  it  had  been 
possible.  She'll  find  the  winter  very  long,  I'm  afraid." 

Now,  this  speech  coming  from  many  people  would 
have  meant  just  this  : — "  I  am  very  poor,  and  you  are  very 
wealthy.  If  you  happen  to  have  two  or  three  hundreds 
lying  idle  at  your  banker's,  the  proffer  of  a  six-months' 
loan  would  come  at  this' juncture  with  peculiar  grace, 
and  so  neither  our  party  nor  our  picquet  need  be  broken 
up."  But,  like  the  Castilian  beggar  who  will  never 
overstep  a  certain  line  in  degradation,  Alexander  Irving, 
gambler  and  profligate  to  the  backbone,  had  his  points  of 
honor.  On  the  present  occasion  he  meant  what  he  said, 
neither  more  nor  less,  and  Ramsay,  who  had  exceptional 
luck  in  steering  clear  of  gaucherie,  knew  his  man  far  too 
well  to  think  of  suggesting  any  such  aid.  He  only 
said, — 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  245 

"  I  wish  with  all  my  heart  you  could  have  managed 
it,  it  would  have  been  so  pleasant  for  all  of  us.  Couldn't 
you  venture  on  a  short  visit  ?  Perhaps  before  long  we 
could  offer  you  quarters.  At  the  present  moment  we're 
roofless  in  London,  you  know." 

"Don't  tempt  me,"  Irving  answered,  gravely.  "If 
I've  learned  nothing  else  in  all  these  years,  I've  learned 
not  to  trust  myself.  It  wouldn't  be  a  short  visit  if  I 
once  got  into  the  old  haunts  and  among  the  old  faces; 
and  with  my  habits  I  would  not  accept  quarters  even 
under  your  roof.  Thanks  for  the  notion  all  the  same. 
If  things  should  turn  out  better  than  I  expect,  we  may 
possibly  meet  again  before  long;  if  otherwise,  I  dare  say 
Alice  and  I  will  survive  till  you  come  north  again." 

Then  the  subject  dropped. 

A  word  or  two  about  that  same  picquet-playing  will 
make  matters  clearer.  Mark  had  adhered  fairly  enough 
to  the  spirit  of  his  promise  to  Alice  to  abstain  from  deep 
gambling,  and  the  nominal  stakes  remained  much  the 
same  as  at  the  beginning ;  but  a  fiver  on  the  rubber  of 
three  games  had  become  by  no  means  exceptional  of  late, 
and  they  played  as  often  as  not  according  to  the  Russian 
rules,  where  every  point  scores.  One  way  or  another, 
Irving's  winning  balance  had  mounted  to  no  incon- 
siderable sum ;  it  might  be  reckoned  in  hundreds  now. 
The  luck  had  been  tolerably  equal,  but  Mark  was  proba- 
bly right  in  giving  his  opponent  credit  from  the  first  for 
superior  skill  and  in  predicting  that  it  must  tell  in  the 
long  run.  But  the  superiority  was  not  disagreeably 
manifest ;  and  it  was  still  so  much  a  question  of  cards, 
that  a  shade  of  odds  would  have  tempted  an  ordinary 
backer  to  give  choice.  The  subject  of  profit  or  loss  had 
never  been  touched  on  betwixt  them  till  the  very  last 
night.  It  was  much  later  than  usual  when  they  sat 
down,  and  their  time  was  limited;  for,  though  neither 
affected  earl}7  hours,  it  was  their  rule  never  to  break  far 
into  the  morning. 

"  Have  you  any  idea  how  we  stand  ?"  Mark  asked,  as 
he  took  up  his  cards.  "You  keep  a  score,  I  believe?" 

"  Yes,"  Irving  answered.  "  I  have  done  so  for  many 
years.  If  my  banking-book  had  been  as  regularly  kept 

21* 


•246  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

as  my  play-account,  it  would  have  been  better  for  me  and 
mine.  I  can  tell  you  now,  if  you  wait  a  minute.  I'm 
just  two  hundred  and  eighty  to  the  good,"  he  went  on, 
after  adding  up  a  page  of  his  carnet.  "  I  didn't  think  it 
had  been  quite  so  much." 

"  I  thought  it  was  more,"  the  other  said,  carelessly. 
"  If  that's  the  case,  I  have  seldom  had  so  much  amuse- 
ment for  my  money — and  instruction  too,  for  the  matter 
of  that.  I  flatter  myself  I  have  improved  several  points 
since  our  first  trial  of  strength." 

"You  don't  flatter  yourself,"  Irving  said.  "There 
can't  be  a  doubt  about  your  playing  better  than  you  did 
at  first;  and  you  would  play  better  still — you  don't  mind 
my  telling  you — if  you  were  not  quite  so  quick  over  your 
discard.  I  can  afford  to  give  you  that  hint  now,  you 
see." 

."  I  don't  know  about  that,"  Mark  retorted.  "  You've 
hit  the  blot,  that's  certain,  and  I'm  obliged  to  you  for 
the  hint.  I'd  rather  it  had  come  an  hour  later,  though. 
Can  you  guess  why  ?  Well,  I  was  going  to  propose  to 
you  one  rubber  of  three — d,  VAnglaise — absolutely  the 
last  for  this  bout:  fifty  on  the  game,  and  a  hundred  on  la 
belle.  There's  too  much  the  double  or  quits  about  it, 
isn't  there?  I  don't  the  least  expect  you  to  accept." 

The  same  eagerness  came  over  Irving's  face,  and  the 
same  gleam  into  his  eyes,  as  was  remarked  there  when 
picquet  was  first  mentioned  at  Kenlis.  He  had  none  of 
the  small  meannesses  of  the  third-rate  gambler,  and  when 
he  erred  it, was  never  on  the  side  of  timidity.  His  prin- 
ciple was  invariably  to  pousser  sa  masse — only,  unluckily 
for  him,  the  mass  was  as  often  his  own  as  the  banker's 
money. 

"  And  why  not  accept  ?"  he  said,  in  his  softest  voice. 
"  It  is  no  great  plunge  for  me.  At  the  very  worst,  I 
shall  rise  a  better  winner  than  perhaps  I  have  any  right 
to  expect;  and  if  I  win,  in  spite  of  the  famine-year, 
there'll  be  a  little  corn  in  Egypt." 

"We'll  have  fresh  cards,  then,"  Mark  observed;  and, 
with  no  more  said  on  either  side,  the  heavy  rubber  began. 

Irving  had  it  all  his  own  way  at  first,  and  scored  a 
game  without  difficulty ;  but  the  second  was  more  evenly 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  247 

contested.  The  luck  seemed  to  have  turned,  for  Mark 
scored  ninety  against  his  adversary's  fifty-five,  the  latter 
being  eldest  hand.  A  glance  at  his  cards  told  Mark  that 
there  was  a  heavy  point,  and  in  all  probability  at  least 
one  high  sequence,  against  him.  Indeed,  it  might  be  the 
taking  in  of  one  card  only  would  save  the  game;  but  that 
one  would  win  it — the  fourth  queen.  He  held  an  ace 
and  king  of  different  suits,  so  the  quatorze  must  needs  be 
good.  It  seemed  as  though  Irving's  hint  had  not  been 
lost:  he  pondered  long  enough  over  the  discard,  at  all 
events.  Then,  laughing  to  himself  a  little  contemptu- 
ously, as  men  laugh  at  some  trite  jest  or  old-fashioned 
conceit,  he  put  out  the  queen  of  hearts. 

The  topmost  card  on  his  paquet  was  her  sister  of  dia- 
monds. 

On  Irving's  placid  face  there  was,  it  must  be  owned,  a 
palpable  anxiety  as  he  began  to  declare.  His  hand  was 
wonderfully  strong:  six  cards  and  a  quint-major  brought 
him  to  twenty-one.  Then  he  announced  three  aces  He 
glanced  sharply  at  his  adversary,  evidently  not  expecting 
them  to  pass  unchallenged ;  but  Mark  only  nodded ;  and 
now  there  was  nothing  to  stop  the  pique,  which,  with  the 
cards,  made  the  eldest  hand  game  and  rubber  at  once. 

"  That  was  a  near  thing,"  the  conqueror  remarked, 
with  the  slightest,  the  very  slightest,  tremor  in  his  voice. 
"  The  quatorze  of  queens  was  against  me  throughout. 
Is  it  possible  that  you  didn't  go  for  it?" 

"  Quite  possible,"  Mark  answered,  "though  I  ought  to 
have  done  so,  beyond  a  doubt,  for  it  was  my  best  chance. 
If  one  could  only  guess  what  one  was  going  to  take  in — 
I  don't  know  that  it  would  improve  the  game,  though ; 
it's  pretty  enough  as  It  stands." 

Whilst  he  was  speaking,  he  had  taken  up  his  discard 
and  mixed  it  into  his  hand,  shuffling  the  cards  to  and  fro 
mechanically,  like  one  whose  thoughts  are  busy  else- 
where. Then  he  rose,  and,  unlocking  an  escritoire,  took 
some  notes  out  of  it,  which  he  laid  upon  the  card-table. 
The  other  let  them  lie  there. 

"  You  don't  care  for  your  revenge,  then  ?"  he  said. 

"I  have  no  right  to'ask  it,  for  that  was  to  be  abso- 
lutely the. last  rubber;  aod  if  I  had,  I  should  waive  it: 


248  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

I  should  only  be  following  up  a  bad  veine.  Those  un- 
lucky queens  ought  to  be  a  warning." 

With  something  like  a  sigh  of  relief,  Irving  folded  up 
the  notes  tenderly  and  placed  them  in  his  pocket-book. 

"  I  think  we  shall  not  winter  at  Drumour,  after  all,'' 
he  remarked,  after  a  minute's  silence.  "To-night  has 
just  turned  the  scale.  We  shall  be  boarded  and  lodged 
at  your  expense,  after  all — Alice  and  I.'' 

Mark's  start  of  surprise  was  perfect. 

"You  don't  mean  that?  Well,  I  didn't  grudge  my 
losing  it  before,  but  now  I  think  I  seldom  or  never  won 
to  such  good  purpose.  There's  one  thing  I'm  going  to 
ask  you.  Will  you  tell  Miss  Irving  nothing  of  to-night's 
doing,  and  not  let  her  guess  how  her  winter  in  town  was 
brought  about  ?  It  would  be  a  pity  to  spoil  her  pleasure, 
you  know ;  and  that  it  will  be  pleasure  there's  little 
doubt.  I  don't  mind  confessing  to  you  that  the  first  time 
she  ever  stayed  here,  certain  confidences  passed  between 
us  on  the  subject  of  high  play,  and  that  I  received  a  cer- 
tain warning." 

Captain  Irving's  smile  was  full  of  indulgent  superiority 
— such  as  might  become  a  great  philosopher  whose  ab- 
struse pursuits  are  sometimes  scarcely  appreciated  as 
they  deserve  by  his  kith  and  kin. 

"  Poor  Alice !"  he  said.  "  Yes,  she  does  torment  her- 
self sometimes  about  these  matters — as  if  self-tormenting 
ever  helped  one's  self  or  others.  You're  quite  right, 
though.  There  are  secrets — quite  harmless,  of  course — 
of  which  womankind,  ever  so  trusty  or  tractable,  is  not 
worthy  ;  and  this  is  one  of  'em.  So  about  this  last  rubber 
— silence  ct  la  mort  /" 

After  a  little  more  converse  of  no  moment,  the  two 
parted  for  the  night  on  the  best  possible  terms.  But 
Irving  knew  only  half  the  secret,  after  all.  He  had  all 
the  worst  faults  of  the  inveterate  gambler;  he  would 
have  won  a  pauper's  last  shilling  with  as  little  scruple  or 
pity  as  though  it  belonged  to  a  millionaire ;  and  he  would 
push  the  advantage  of  skill  to  the  very  verge  of  honor ; 
nevertheless — let  us  give  the  devil  his  due — if  he  could 
have  overlooked  his  opponent's  play  during  that  last 
hand,  he  would  have  cast  down  those  notes  that  he 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  2*9 

folded  so  complacently,  even  as  Judas — a  thought  too 
late — cast  down  the  blood-money.  Ay,  more  than  this  ! 
If  he  could  have  guessed  at  the  motive  prompting  the 
curious  discard,  it  would  have  been  no  fault  of  his  if 
Mark  Ramsay  had  not  had  an  early  opportunity  of  prov- 
ing whether  Vere  Alsager  was  right  or  wrong  in  credit- 
ing those  delicate  white  fingers  with  some  skill  in  the 
use  of  hair-triggers. 

The  Irvings  departed  after  luncheon  on  the  morrow; 
for  on  the  following  day  Kenlis  Castle  was  to  be  left  till 
next  summer  to  the  care  of  two  or  three  Scotch  servants, 
who,  for  a  sufficient  "cou-sid-er-a-tion,"  were  not  afraid 
to  risk  an  occasional  encountering  of  the  Brown  Lady. 
But  in  the  course  of  the  morning  Alice  Irving  found  her- 
self in  a  certain  nook  of  the  south  terrace,  where — by 
the  merest  chance  in  the  world — Ramsay  was  smoking  a 
contemplative  cigar.  She  was  radiant  with  happiness,  for 
she  had  just  heard  from  her  father  of  the  change  in  their 
winter  quarters. 

"  I'm  sure  it's  all  owing  to  you.     Don't  deny  it." 

And  her  eyes  said,  better  than  the  scarlet  lips  could 
have  done,  "  I  thank  you." 

"  I  never  deny  pleasant  imputations,"  Mark  said,  with 
a  laugh.  "  You  may  give  me  all  the  credit  you  can  pos- 
sibly afford.  I  deserve  a  good  deal ;  for  it  was  so  thor- 
oughly disinterested  of  me  to  try  to  persuade  Captain 
Irving  that  neither  of  you  was  quite  fitted  for  an  Arctic 
winter  1  Is  it  treason  to  mention  Drumour  and  winter 
in  a  breath?  Never  mind;  it  can't  be  helped.  The  die 
is  cast  now,  and  you  must  make  the  best  of  it." 

"  The  best  of  it  1" 

She  spoke  the  words  almost  in  a  whisper ;  but  as  she 
spoke  she  glanced  up  once  in  her  companion's  face.  If 
Vere  Alsager  had  been  near  enough  to  look  under  the 
long,  sweeping  lashes,  he  would  have  been  less  likely 
than  ever  to  alter  his  opinion  as  to  the  "  quiet  devilry" 
of  the  great  gray  eyes. 


250  BREAKING   A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

WE  have  almost  forgotten  George  Anstruther.  Out  of 
such  clay  it  is  difficult  assuredly  to  mould  an  interesting 
personage,  either  in  real  life  or  romance :  nevertheless,  as 
he  played  rather  an  important  part  in  this  story,  it  will 
be  better  to  go  back  to  him  for  awhile. 

The  outward  perturbation  in  which  you  saw  him  last 
— when  he  made  haste  to  escape  out  of  the  sound  of 
Blanche  Ramsay's  marriage-bells — passed  away  within 
the  hour ;  but  the  methodical  routine  of  his  days  was  not 
taken  up  so  easily  again.  It  is  the  same  with  all  machines 
— alive  or  dead — working  in  a  deep  groove.  Hard  as  it 
may  be  to  throw  them  out  of  gear,  when  this  is  once 
done  effectually  it  is  harder  yet  to  set  them  back  on  the 
track.  For  the  first  time  in  all  his  life  Anstruther  knew 
what  restlessness  meant.  Certain  tormenting  phantoms 
haunted  him — in  his  laboratory,  where  he  now  worked 
only  by  fits  and  starts — in  his  hours  of  exercise,  ride  as 
sharply  as  he  would — and,  most  of  all,  when  he  lay  down 
and  strove  to  force  himself  into  sleep;  and  sleep,  when  it 
came,  was  too  full  of  dreams  to  refresh  or  restore.  Even  at 
the  whist-table  his  thoughts  would  go  wandering  far  beyond 
the  outer  walls  of  the  Orion — sometimes  beyond  the  sea. 

The  jar  on  his  moral  organization  told  on  him  physic- 
ally, too.  The  fine,  regular  appetite,  that  was  the  envy  of 
all  his  Indian  comrades,  began  to  fail,  and  more  than 
once  an  artistic  dish  sent  back  untasted  gave  the  chef  of 
the  Planet  occasion  to  exclaim  against  insular  ingratitude. 
Divers  of  his  acquaintance  noticed  the  change,  and  decided 
that  it  was  "  a  case  of  liver,"  and  that  George  Anstrutber, 
after  all,  had  not  fared  so  much  better  than  other  con- 
sumers of  curry  and  cayenne.  He  himself  at  last  inclined 
to  this  view  of  the  question,  and,  after  considerable  reluc- 
tance and  delay,  consented  to  a  medical  inspection. 

The  famous  physician  he  consulted  was  a  man  of  the 
world  as  well  as  a  man  of  science:  perhaps  not  n  few  of  his 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  251 

cures  might  have  been  attributed  to  a  habit  of  considering 
and  prescribing  for  other  than  mere  bodily  symptoms  of 
disease.  In  the  present  instance  he  allowed  that  the  liver 
was  partly  at  fault ;  but  it  was  not  only  on  this  account 
that  he  suggested  change  of  scene.  A  mouth  in  Switzer- 
land and  another  at  Wiesbaden,  with  one  or  two  simple 
remedies,  were  all  he  thought  it  necessary  to  prescribe. 

Anstruther  took  both  the  advice  and  the  physic  pa- 
tiently, and  went  through  the  course  of  travel  and  the 
course  of  waters  with  exemplary  punctuality — feeling,  all 
the  while,  tolerably  sure  that  neither  would  do  him  any 
material  good.  In  the  first  fortnight  of  his  sojourn  at 
Wiesbaden  there  certainly  was  an  improvement,  and  three 
or  four  Orionites  who  had  come  thither  on  a  like  sanitary 
mission  found  him  quite  as  ready  as  themselves  to  make 
up  a  rubber  at  club-points — which  those  decent  bodies 
much  preferred  to  the  meretricious  trente  et  quarante — 
and  much  readier  to  take  exercise  either  on  foot  or  horse- 
back. But  all  at  once  he  seemed  to  fall  back  again  be- 
yond the  point  from  which  improvement  had  begun 
There  was  no  rational  way  of  accounting  for  this,  unless 
a  packet  of  letters  forwarded  from  England  had  anything 
to  do  with  it.  As  for  the  intelligence  they  contained,  the 
whole  world  might  have  looked  over  his  shoulder  as  he 
opened  them  and  been  none  the  wiser ;  though  they  in- 
cluded a  brief  kind  note  from  Blanche  Ramsay,  asking 
Mr.  Anstruther  to  spare  them  a  fortnight  at  Kenlis,  or 
longer  if  he  could  contrive  it. 

Do  you  remember  his  behavior  some  months  before, 
when,  walking  in  his  garden,  he  first  read  that  hand- 
writing ?  How  carefully  he  opened  the  dainty  envelope? 
How  he  lingered  over  the  perusal  ?  How  long  he  mused 
afterward — frowning  the  while  ?  Much  after  the  same 
fashion  he  bore  himself  now,  only  that  his  feverish  fingers 
did  not  entreat  the  note  quite  so  delicately — they  rather 
crushed  than  toyed  with  it — and  those  few  lines  took 
thrice  as  long  as  the  others  in  reading.  His  frown  too, 
as  he  sat  a-musing,  was  heavier  tenfold. 

Nothing  of  all  this  was  apparent  in  the  tone  of  his  an- 
swer. His  regret  at  being  now  forced  to  decline,  and 
hope  of  being  more  fortunate  hereafter,  were  perfectly 


252  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

worded.  If  a  fault  could  have  been  found,  it  would  have 
been  that  the  courtesy  was  a  little  too  formal  and  cold. 
But  from  that  day  there  was  a  notable  change  in  An- 
struther  for  the  worse.  Notable  it  must  have  been  ;  for 
each  and  every  one  of  the  Orionist  clique  was  too  much 
engaged  in  watching  the  state  of  his  own  health  to  look 
very  keenly  after  his  neighbor's,  and  yet  they  all  observed 
and  commented  on  it. 

When  the  appointed  time  was  fully  spent,  Anstruther 
drifted  listlessly  back  with  the  tide — setting  homeward 
now.  He  took  Paris  on  his  way,  purposing  to  spend  a 
week  there ;  but  by  the  third  evening  he  was  weary  even 
to  death  of  the  noisy,  tourist-ridden  city,  and  came  straight 
to  town  by  the  night  mail. 

The  autumnal  attractions  of  London  to  most  people  are 
not  powerful ;  but  Anstruther  was  independent  of  society 
— or,  at  least,  of  all  but  a  very  minute  portion  thereof — 
so  far  as  his  amusements  went.  He  was  really  glad  to 
find  himself  within  arm's-length  of  his  books  and  his  cru- 
cibles again ;  and  a  faithful  few — loving  a  square  yard  of 
green  cloth  better  than  the  widest  prospect  of  emerald 
fields — mustered  still  in  the  card-room  of  the  Orion. 

Gradually  he  began  to  slide  back  into  the  old  ways ; 
before  he  had  been  home  a  full  month  he  had  found  quiet 
again,  if  not  perfect  peace,  and  for  awhile  the  current  of 
his  life  flowed  on  much  as  heretofore.  If  the  tormenting 
phantoms  had  not  utterly  vanished,  they  kept  discreetly 
in  the  background  for  the  present;  but,  in  most  of  these 
cases,  once  haunted  is  always  haunted.  He  knew  very 
well  that  they  were  lurking  somewhere  in  the  dark,  and 
would  appear  once  more  at  their  own  time  and  season. 

One  murky  afternoon — the  November  fogs  came  before 
their  time  that  autumn — Anstruther  went  down  to  his 
club  at  the  usual  hour,  and  stopped  on  the  steps  to  ex- 
change salutations  with  one  of  his  familiars  passing  out; 
"  familiar"  is  the  proper  term,  for  no  one,  since  Walter 
Ellerslie's  death,  had.the  right  to  call  Anstruther  "friend." 
This  man — Thorndyke  by  name — was  among  his  closest 
intimates.  Both  were  old  bachelors,  leading  a  methodical 
sort  of  life ;  and  respect  for  each  other's  skill,  added  to 
certain  gastronomic  sympathies,  had  bred  a  kind  of  liking 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  253 

betwixt  them.  Anstruther  was  rather  disappointed  at 
seeing  the  other's  face  turned  outward :  Mr.  Thorndyke's 
place  at  the  whist-table  could  not  easily  be  filled. 

"You're  off  early,"  he  said;  "some  business,  I  sup- 
pose?" 

"You  are  about  right,"  Thorndyke  retorted,  turning 
up  his  furred  collar  with  a  shiver.  "  I  haven't  a  hundred 
steps  to  walk;  but  no  man  would  go  that  far  for  his  own 
pleasure  through  this  infernal  fog.  There's  something 
worth  looking  at  up-stairs,  too — though  it's  more  in  your 
line  than  mine  ;  for  I  don't  appreciate  picquet.  There's 
a  fresh  hand  turned  up  this  afternoon — fresh  to  most  of 
us,  at  least,  though  he's  a  very  old  member.  Did  you 
ever  hear  of  a  Captain  Irving — no  ?  Well,  he  has  just 
sat  down  to  play  nine  games  with  Blanchmayne,  with 
fifty  on  the  rubber.  They  are  ancient  antagonists,  it  seems. 
I  fancy  the  viscount  must  have  got  a  rare  dressing  once 
or  twice,  or  he  wouldn't  be  so  civil." 

This  famous  card-room  was  not  an  out-of-the-way  gar- 
ret, or  a  noisy,  ground-room — such  as  may  be  seen  in 
other  clubs,  where  whist  is  subordinate  to  conviviality — 
but  a  lofty  and  spacious  presence-chamber,  wherein 
brooded  always  a  solemn  stillness,- if  not  a  silence  that 
might  be  felt.  Thick  sun-blinds  and  ample  curtains  re- 
pelled the  garish  eye  of  day,  -and  after  dusk-fall  the  sad 
mellow  light  of  shaded  waxen  tapers  prevailed.  The 
wagering,  though  never  desperate,  was  often  deep ;  but 
bets  were  offered  and  accepted  in  a  quiet  mercantile 
fashion.  Winners  betrayed  no  noisy  exultation,  and 
losers  cursed  not  their  ill  luck — aloud.  Light-minded 
strangers  entering  there  jocund  with  good  cheer — the 
cellar  of  the  Orion  was  proverbial — had  scarcely  passed 
through  those  august  portals  before  the  religio  loci  con- 
strained them  to  tread  softly  and  speak  under  their  breath ; 
and  they  issued  forth,  as  a  rule,  in  a  frame  of  mind  befit- 
ting those  who  have  sojourned  for  a  space  within  the  Tro- 
phonian  Cavern. 

On  the  present  occasion  a  couple  of  rubbers  were  going 
on,  neither  of  which  had  any  special  attraction  for  An- 
struther, and  he  walked  straight  to  the  corner  where  a 
knot  of  spectators  were  gathered  round  the  picquet-table. 

22 


254  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;     OR, 

Of  the  two  players,  one  you  are  well  acquainted  with ; 
the  other  was  an  oddity  in  his  way — a  most  disagreeable 
way,  it  must  be  owned 

There  was  not  a  shadow  of  reason  or  excuse,  so  far  as 
any  one  knew,  for  Lord  Blanchmayne's  misanthropy. 
His  constitution  was  as  tough  as  whalebone;  his  fortune 
far  beyond  his  needs ;  and  he  was  hampered  by  no  kind 
of  family  duties  or  cares.  Yet  he  .had  never  been  known 
to  waste  kindly  or  courteous  word  on  man,  woman,  or 
child.  He  was  a  solitary — partly  by  choice,  partly  of  ne- 
cessity :  for  his  own  order,  when  the  fact  of  Lord  Blanch- 
mayne's confirmed  celibacy  was  once  established,  cared 
not  to  court  his  society;  and  when,  to  suit  his  own  pur- 
pose, he  mingled  with  his  inferiors,  he  would  never  dis- 
semble contempt  for  his  company.  He  was  an  adept  at 
all  games  of  chance  and  skill,  and  a  shrewd  though  not 
an  energetic  or  eloquent  politician.  But  he  would  have 
been  more  successful  had  he  had  a  better  opinion  of  the 
world  in  general ;  and  some  of  his  subtlest  combinations 
went  awry  simply  because  he  would  not  give  his  part- 
ners credit  for  common  sense,  or  his  adversaries  for  com- 
mon honesty.  Parcere  devictis  was  a  maxim  that  even 
as  a  schoolboy  he  had  learned  to  despise ;  but  he  was  a 
good  loser — the  stake  was  of  no  sort  of  consequence  to 
him,  and  instead  of  bearing  malice  to  any  man  who  fairly 
got  the  best  of  him,  he  rather  respected  such  a  one,  and 
treated  him  accordingly.  His  sallow,  cross-grained  face 
does  not  lower  a  whit  more  than  usual  now,  though  the 
second  game  has  just  been  scored  against  him  ;  and  with 
a  kind  of  sullen  admiration  he  growls  out, — 

"You  haven't  grown  rusty  in  all  these  years  :  plenty 
of  practice,  I  suppose  ?  I  wish  I  could  say  as  much  for 
myself ;  but  bad  play's  catching,  and  I  don't  get  many 
chances  of  improving  my  game." 

The  side-blow  was  meant  for  certain  bystanders  who 
rather  fancied  themselves  at  picquet. 

"As  far  as  practice  goes,  you  must  have  had  the  ad- 
vantage in  point  of  quality,  if  not  in  quantity,"  Irving 
answered,  with  a  glance  round  that  took  the  edge  off  the 
other's  sarcasm.  "  I've  been  playing  a  good  deal  lately, 
it's  true  ;  in  Germany,  first,  with  a  real  professor,  who  is 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  255 

gone — I'm  afraid  not  to  a  better  world  ;  Paradise  with- 
out picquet  would  be  Purgatory  to  poor  Bernsdorff ;  and 
lately  in  Scotland  with  a  near  neighbor  of  mine — Mark 
Ramsay,  of  Kenlis  Castle — a  fine  player,  too,  though  a 
little  flashy.  He's  in  town  now,  and  I  shouldn't  wonder 
if  he  were  put  up  here.  Does  any  one  know  him?" 

Blanchmayne  grunted  out  a  negative,  and  it  was  evident 
that  the  nanie  had  no  interest  or  significance  for  any  there 
present — save  one. 

Anstruther  started,  and,  if  you  had  watched  his  face 
narrowly,  you  would  have  seen  his  brow  contract  and 
his  lips  brace  themselves ;  but  he  never  uttered  a  syllable 
till  the  partie  was  decided  easily  in  Irving's  favor.  During 
the  buzz  of  comment  that  ensued — the  viscount  chose  to 
defer  his  revenge — he  accosted  the  conqueror. 

"I  never  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you  before  to-day. 
When  we're  better  acquainted,  I  hope  you'll  give  me  some 
lessons  at  picquet ;  but,  frankly  speaking,  that's  not  my 
object  now.  You  said  that  the  Ramsays  are  in  town,  I 
think  ?  I  was  not  aware  of  it.  Perhaps  you  can  tell  me 
where  they  are  staying  ?  My  name  is  George  Anstruther." 

"  You  flatter  me,"  the  other  said,  with  a  little,  depre- 
cating laugh.  "  One  partie  don't  go  for  much :  I'm  more 
likely  to  learn  than  to  teach  here.  I  remember  your  name 
quite  well ;  for  I  heard  Mrs  Ramsay  regret  that  she  could 
not  prevail  on  you  to  come  so  far  north.  Luckily,  I  can 
give  you  their  address.  For  the  present  they've  got  rooms 
at 's." 

In  those  days  the  renown  of  that  famous  caravanserai 
was  scarcely  limited  by  the  frontier  of  civilization.  Its 
ancient  proprietor — an  enterprising  cosmopolitan,  who,  in 
the  pursuit  of  his  profession,  soared  superbly  above  preju- 
dice and  conscience — has  gone  to  settle  his  own  account, 
or  found  a  principality,  in  some  far-off  clime,  and  the 
place  is  changed — for  the  better,  perhaps.  But,  even  now, 
few  strangers  arriving  there — hailing  from  regions  how- 
soever remote,  of  four  continents — need  be  debarred  from 
their  national  comforts  and  delicacies.  Prayer-carpets  are 
still  provided  at  a  small  extra  charge,  and  a  space  on  the 
house-top  is  especially  set  apart  for  sun-worship.  If  the 
heir-apparent  of  the  Cannibal  Isles  were  sojourning  there, 


256  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

I  doubt  not  that  filet  de  gargon  d  la  Perouse  would  be 
served  at  his  table  as  often  as  it  pleased  him — always 
provided  that  the  prince  were  not  terrified  by  the  figures 
set  over  against  that  dish  of  savory  meat  in  the  bill. 

"  I  thought  of  calling  there  on  my  way  home,"  Irving 
went  on, — "  only  to  leave  a  message,  though.  Shall  1 
give  you  a  lift  so  far?" 

Anstruther's  manner — especially  with  strangers — was 
always  rather  stiff  and  formal ;  but  it  was  unusually  con- 
strained now,  and  he  seemed  to  shrink  back  within  him- 
self, as  if  he  regretted  having  made  the  first  advances 
toward  conversation. 

"  Thanks  1  I  should  be  very  happy,  if  I  were  not  other- 
wise engaged,"  he  said ;  "  but  I  can't  possibly  call  this 
afternoon.  I  shall  take  an  early  opportunity  of  doing  so." 

The  change  in  the  speaker's  tone  did  not  escape  Irving : 
very  few  things  passing  within  his  sight  or  hearing  did 
escape  him.  He  thought  there  was  something  decidedly 
eccentric  about  his  new  acquaintance;  but  he  simply 
bowed  his  head  as  if  accepting  the  excuse,  as  he  asked, 
incidentally, — 

"Shall  I  mention  that  \v'e  have  met,  if  I  happen  to  see 
Mrs.  Ramsay  ?  1  think,  from  what  I  have  heard  her  say  at 
Kenlis,  she  would  be  glad  to  know  that  you  are  in  town." 

"  If  you — please,"  Anstruther  answered,  this  time  with 
marked  hesitation,  and  then  turned  away  abruptly. 

"A  very  fair  beginning,"  Irving  mused,  as  he  stepped 
gingerly  across  the  slippery  pavement  to  his  cab,  and  drew 
up  the  windows.  "  I  rather  believe  in  auguries,  and  it's 
as  well  to  start  with  something  in  hand.  Blanchmayne 
was  quite  right.  His  game  isn't  improved  since  we  met 
last :  I  think  I've  got  his  measure.  It -remains  to  be  seen 
what  the  others  are  like — it  wouldn't  be  safe  to  take  his 
estimate  of  them,  that's  certain  ;  but  with. even  paper  I 
ought  to  hold  my  own.  It  strikes  me  my  losings  to 
Bernsdorff  weren't  such  a  bad  investment.  I'll  take  odds 
that  same  Anstruther  knows  a  thing  or  two.  I  don't 
fancy  those  modest  people  who  are  so  ready  to  take  les- 
sons, particularly  when  they're  my  canny  countrymen , 
and  there's  no  doubt  on  which  side  of  the  Border  he  was 
begotten.  It's  a  hard-bitten  face :  but  how  queer  it  looked 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  257 

just  now  !  I  believe  he'd  have  blushed  if  he  hadn't  for- 
gotten the  trick;  and  what  made  him  stammer?  It's  not 
his  habit,  evidently.  Mrs.  Ramsay  spoke  of  him  as  a  sort 
of  guardian,  if  I  remember  right.  Can  there  have  been 
any  love-passages  ?  Absurd  I  A  d'autres,  mon  bon." 

A  complacent  chuckle  suggested  what  sort  of  compar- 
ison he  was  drawing  in  his  mind  just  then. 

Mrs.  Ramsay  was  not  at  home  when  he  called  ;  so  that 
evening  Irving  had  no  chance  of  seeing  whether  her  face 
would  have  furnished  matter  for  guess-work  at  the  men- 
tion of  a  certain  name. 

When  Anstruther  turned  away  after  the  colloquy  re- 
corded above,  he  went  first  to  one  of  the  whist-tables, 
and  stood  watching  the  progress  of  the  game;  after  a 
minute  or  two,  as  if  he  had  suddenly  remembered  some- 
thing, he  walked  quickly  through  the  door  leading  into  a 
smaller  apartment  used  as  a  writing-room.  It  was  empty 
just  then,  as  indeed  was  generally  the  case ;  for  very  little 
correspondence  was  conducted  at  the  Orion,  and  ink  was 
seldom  used  save  for  the  drawing  of  checks.  He  sat  down 
at  one  of  the  tables  and  took  up  a  pen ;  but  this  was  a 
palpable  excuse  for  lingering  there,  for  he  never  traced 
a  word  on  the  paper  before  him.  His  thoughts  were  in 
a  strange  medley,  and  he  himself  could  hardly  have  told 
whether  they  were  more  tinged  with  pleasure  or  pain. 

One  thing  was  certain:  the  calm  of  the  last  few  weeks 
had  been  utterly  broken  up  within  the  last  half-hour.  The 
phantoms  that  had  kept  aloof  for  awhile  were  at  their 
old  mocks  again  already,  and  they  were  clearer  in  outline 
now — more  like  the  reflections  in  a  mirror  of  forms  actu- 
ally in  flesh  and  blood.  So  she  was  in  London  ;  within 
reach — easy  reach — of  -him  at  that  very  moment.  To- 
morrow— this  very  day,  for  the  matter  of  that — he  might, 
if  he  chose,  prove  whether  the  soft  brown  eyes  had  for- 
gotten to  look  up  pleadingly,  and  whether  the  cool  white 
fingers  would  still  send  the  same  feverish  thrill  through 
his  pulses  as  when  they  touched  his  wrist  on  a  certain 
afternoon.  Was  it  well  to  make  the  trial?  Would  it  not 
be  wiser  to  fly — ay,  even  to  the  uttermost  parts  of  the 
earth — while  he  could  yet  use  his  wings,  than  to  hover 
stupidly  over  the  snare?  He  recognized  with  self-con- 
"R  22* 


258  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

tempt  verging  on  self-loathing — nevertheless  he  did  rec- 
ognize it — that  he  was  being  mastered  by  a  passion 
utterly  irrational,  hopeless,  and  guilty.  Truth  to  say,  it 
was  not  the  guilt  that  made  him  shrink  and  waver. 

When  George  Anstruther's  character  was  first  sketched, 
he  was  set  down,  as  you  will  remember,  as  one  self-re- 
specting rather  than  God-fearing;  and  when  a  monitor 
like  self-respect  calms  such  a  turmoil  as  was  working 
within  him,  then  flax-withes  will  bind  firebrands.  If  he 
had  been  inclined  to  boast  that  he  had  avoided  hitherto 
gross  or  overt  offense  against  the  written  law,  he  must 
needs  have  boasted  himself  as  one  whom  chance  or  cir- 
cumstance has  kept  clear  of  the  verge  of  battle,  rather 
than  as  one  putting  off  harness  smirched  and  dinted  by 
strife.  He  was  virtuous— or  what  the  world  calls  vir- 
tuous— by  habit  rather  than  by  creed ;  and  he  had  no  sure 
or  abiding  principle  whereunto  to  cling  when  a  fierce 
temptation  dragged  him  down. 

Since  Phryne,  laughing  scornfully,  shut  her  door  in  the 
face  of  the  poor  philosopher  who  came  a-wooing  with  the 
dye  fresh  on  his  scanty  locks,  what  a  many  right  merry  , 
jests  have  been  indited  concerning  the  loves  of  elders  1 
Yet  if  the  records  of  crime  throughout  all  nations  and  all 
ages  were  searched  narrowly,  not  many  blacker  pages 
would  be  found  than  those  whereon  it  is  written  what 
befell  in  the  baffling  or  the  accomplishing  of  these  un- 
timely passions. 

Toung  man's  love  blazeth,  and  is  done; 
Old  man's  love  it  burneth  to  the  bone. 

There  is  truth  enough  in  that  rude  couplet  to  leaven  a 
large  lump  of  Proverbial  Philosophy. 

The  curled  darlings,  scarcely  out  of  their  teens,  are 
prone  enough — Heaven  knows  ! — to  waste  a  fair' inherit- 
ance and  dishonor  an  ancient  name  for  a  harlot's  kiss  or 
a  coquette's  smile ;  and  even  the  Barnwell  tragedy  re- 
peats itself  only  too  often.  But  in  sin  and  shame  there 
is  always  a  deeper  depth — well  for  us  and  our  children 
that  it  is  so — and  the  boy  will  stand  shivering  and  shrink- 
ing on  the  brink  of  the  pit  into  which  the  graybeanl  has 
plunged  headlong  at  the  beck  of  waving  white  arms. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  259 

Wild  tales  assuredly  might  have  been  told  of  Antony's 
youth ;  but  I  doubt  if,  while  his  brow  was  brent,  he  would 
have  followed  so  fast  in  the  wake  of  the  Egyptian  galley 
while  the  sea-fight  was  swaying  to  and  fro  off  Actiura,  or 
have  set  his  breast  so  straight  against  his  sword's  point 
at  the  lying  rumor  of  Cleopatra's  suicide. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

"  PERHAPS  we  may  meet  again  before  very  long." 

So  much,  and  no  more,  said  Alice  Irving,  when  she 
bade  adieu  to  her  hostess  at  Kenlis.  She  did  not  deem 
it  necessary  to  set  forth  more  definitely  her  father's  plans 
for  the  winter ;  and  when  Blanche  a  little  hesitatingly 
answered,  "  I'm  sure  I  hope  so,"  she  did  not  dream  the 
truth  of  her  word  would  be  tested  so  soon.  She  counted, 
not  unnaturally,  on  a  brief  respite  from  the  anxieties  and 
suspicions  that  had  harassed  her  of  late;  and  when,  on 
the  fourth  evening  after  their  arrival  in  town,  Mark  ob- 
served, carelessly,  "  I  met  Irving  in  St.  James's  Streetthis 
afternoon,"  her  heart  gave  a  painful  throb,  and  then  sank 
within  her.  If  her  thoughts  had  been  put  into  words,  she 
might  have  murmured,  "Hast  thou  found  me,  0  mine 
enemy?" 

If  she  manifested  no  great  pleasure  at  the  intelligence, 
she  betrayed  no  vexation  You  would  have  detected  no 
sarcasm  in  her  placid  reply, — 

"  Indeed !  I  didn't  think  they  would  have  followed  us 
so  quickly." 

But,  as  she  lay  awake  that  night  alone,  as  was  usual 
now — for  Mark,  since  he  took  to  keeping  late  hours,  occu- 
pied a  separate  .sleeping-chamber,  on  the  pretext  of  not 
breaking  his  wife's  rest — the  tears  rolled  fast  down  her 
cheeks,  and  she  did  not  try  to  check  them.  She  remem- 
bered how  she  had  lain  awake  musing  once  before — on 
the  eve  of  her  second  marriage-day.  That  was  only  a 
few  months  ago ;  yet  how  far,  far  off  it  seemed  1  Her 


260  BREAKING   A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

heart  had  fluttered  then,  but  not  painfully,  and  she  fell 
asleep  smiling.  Her  smiles  now  were  for  the  world  to 
see,  and  it  was  hard  work  to  find  them  sometimes  ;  cer- 
tainly it  was  not  worth  while  to  force  them  for  her  own 
behalf.  And  then,  in  spite  of  herself — for  here  she  strove 
hard  to  turn  the  current  of  her  thoughts — she  remembered 
Oswald  Gauntlet's  warning.  Would  he  be  glad  or  sorry 
if  he  knew  that  it  had  all,  or  nearly  all,  come  true  ?  Not 
glad,  she  felt  right  sure  of  that.  Then  she  fell  a-wonder- 
ing  where  Oswald  was  just  now.  Perhaps  he  was  in 
town,  or  at  Woolwich — much  the  same  thing.  Suppose 
she  were  to  write  a  little  note  to  his  club,  and  ask  him  to 
call  on  her,  just  once,  for  the  sake  of  old  times,  letting 
by-gones  be  by-gones.  Among  her  conjugal  confidences 
were  not  included  the  details  of  that  last  interview  in 
Gaunt  Square;  but  would  Mark  be  likely  to  object, 
even  if  he  knew  all  ?  Blanche  sighed  drearily,  as  she 
acknowledged  that  she  need  have  no  scruples  on  that 
score.  She  felt  as  if  the  sight  of  a  kind,  familiar  face, 
even  though  it  should  look  on  her  at  first  somewhat  an- 
grily, and  the  clasp  of  a  strong,  honest  hand  (not  a  white, 
womanly  one,  like  Captain  Irving's),  might  help  to  brace 
her  nerves.  There  were  substantial  dangers  enough 
around  her;  but  she  had  begun  to  start  at  the  mere 
shadows  of  late,  and,  since  she  had  no  longer  La  Reine 
to  lean  upon,  the  sense  of  isolation  and  helplessness  dark- 
ened round  her  hourly.  Yes,  she  would  certainly  writo. 
To  have  settled  even  so  much  was  some  comfort ;  never- 
theless, she  fairly  cried  herself  to  sleep. 

Before  noon  on  the  following  day  the  note  was  duly 
dispatched ;  but  the  messenger  brought  word  back  that 
Major  Gauntlet  was  still  abroad,  that  it  was  not  known 
when  he  would  return,  and  that,  till  further  notice,  his 
letters  were  to  be  forwarded  to  the  Poste  Restante, 
Vienna.  Mrs.  Ramsay  was  bitterly  disappointed.  All 
that  morning  she  had  been  rehearsing,  much  to  her  own 
satisfaction,  an  imaginary  scene  with  Oswald,  and  now  it 
seemed  likely  to  be  deferred  indefinitely.  She  could  not 
possibly  write  and  ask  him  to  come  back  from  Vienna. 
It  was  provoking,  to  say  the  least  of  it;  and  in  the  first 
moment  of  vexation,  I  fear,  she  spoke  unadvisedly  with 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDIXG.  261 

her  lips  concerning  Commissions,  and  the  War  Office  to 
boot.  Unless  their  lovers'  or  their  friends'  credit  be  at 
stake,  very  few  of  our  sisters  are  patriotic  or  Spartan 
enough  to  submit  without  a  murmur  to  their  private  ar- 
rangements being  thwarted  by  public  duty;  and  betwixt 
such  superior  persons  and  our  poor  Blanche  there  was 
not  a  single  feeling  or  idea  in  common. 

In  this  discontented  mood — after  an  utterly  abortive 
attempt  at  luncheon — Blanche  was  debating  with  herself 
how  she  should  get  rid  of  the  afternoon.  None  of  her 
confidentials  were  in  town,  and  to  general  converse  she 
felt  by  no  means  equal,  when  Mr.  Anstruther's  card  was 
brought  up. 

"  Certainly,  I  shall  be  very  glad,"  she  said,  in  answer 
to  the  query  whether  she  would  receive  the  visitor.  This 
was  not  merely  a  form  of  words.  An  old  acquaintance 
was  not  like  an  old  friend,  particularly  such  an  old  friend 
as  Oswald  Gauntlet ;  but  the  homely  proverb  about  half 
a  loaf  applies  to  the  petite  maitresse  sometimes,  no  less 
than  to  the  peasant  wench,  and  Blanche  just  now  was 
not  inclined  to  be  dainty. 

So  this  was  where  his  meditations  of  overnight  had  led 
George  Anstruther.  It  could  hardly  be  otherwise.  When 
such  a  question  is  once  debated,  as  a  rule  it  is  virtually 
lost.  It  struck  Blanche  that  he  was  somewhat  altered 
since  they  last  met.  He  looked  certainly  gaunter  and 
more  angular,  and  altogether  more  precise  and  formal, 
than  heretofore.  He  was  carefully  dressed,  as  usual ;  but, 
abased  as  the  man  was  already — at  all  events,  in  his  own 
eyes — be  was  still  above  the  devices  of  elderly  foppery, 
and  chose  that  his  face  and  figure  should  remain  as  time 
and  climate  had  left  them.  Mrs.  Ramsay,  it  seemed,  was 
quite  content  to  take  him  as  he  was,  and  a  more  sanguine 
visitor  would  have  been  satisfied  with  the  warmth  of  her 
welcome. 

"  One  is  never  really  at  home  in  a  hotel,"  she  said, 
after  the  first  greetings  had  been  exchanged,  "even  in  the 
way  of  receiving  one's  friends ;  but  there  are  exceptions 
to  all  rules,  and  the  week  would  not  have  passed  without 
my  letting  you  know  our  whereabouts.  By-the-by,  how 
did  you  find  us  out  ?" 


2G2  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

He  answered  the  first  part  of  her  speech  only,  by  a 
stiff  bow. 

"  It  was  at  the  Orion. — an  old-fashioned  club,  I  dare 
say,  you  never  heard  of.  A  Captain  Irving  mentioned 
Mr.  Ramsay's  name.  From  what  he  said,  I  fancy  he 
must  have  been  a  constant  visitor  at  Kenlis." 

Had  the  room  grown  darker  all  of  a  sudden  ?  or  was 
the  fresh  shadow  only  on  Blanche's  face  ? 

"A  very  constant  visitor,"  she  said,  hurriedly.  "  He 
was  our  nearest  neighbor,  to  be  sure,  and  anything  like 
society  is  at  a  premium  in  the  far  north  ;  but  Mark  and 
he  have  become  almost  inseparable  of. late.  They  are 
both  devoted  to  picquet,  you  know." 

She  thought  afterward  he  guessed  at  her  embarrass- 
ment, and  would  have  helped  her  out  of  it. 

"  Quite  enough  to  account  for  an  intimacy,  I  think. 
It's  a  fascinating  game,  as  I've  found  to  my  cost.  Yes ; 
it  was  as  a  picquet-player  your  husband  was  first  alluded 
to.  Then  I  introduced  myself  to  Captain  Irving,  for  the 
purpose  of  finding  out  if  you  were  in  town." 

"  Then  you  cared  to  know?"  she  asked,  with  one  of  the 
shy,  eloquent  glances  that  had  helped  to  do  much  mis- 
chief in  old  times.  Anstruther  bore  it  bravely:  at  least 
not  a  muscle  in  his  stolid,  rough-hewn  face  stirred ;  but 
the  fingers  that  lay  crossed  on  his  knee  were  locked  a 
little  more  tightly. 

"Undoubtedly  I  cared,"  he  made  answer.  "  I  have  not 
so  many  friends  that  I  can  afford  either  to  forget  or  neg- 
lect them.  I  assure  you  I  often  thought  of  you  at  Kenlis, 
and  hoped  you  were  making  the  most  of  all  that  glorious 
weather.  There  hasn't  been  such  a  Highland  autumn  for 
years,  they  tell  me." 

"  Yes ;  the  weather  was  perfect.  It  is  a  pity  you  were 
not  with  us  to  enjoy  it.  I  hardly  expected  a  refusal,  I 
own.  Did  you  not  give  me  a  half-promise  when  you 
gave  me — this  ?" 

She  drew  out  of  the  bodice  of  her  high  velvet  dress 
the  amulet  you  wot  of,  with  the  fire-opal  gleaming  in  the 
square  of  dusky  gold. 

Anstruther's  cheek  flushed  for  a  second  quite  visibly, 
though  in  the  stiffness  of  his  manner  there  was  no  change. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLfE'S  ENDING.  265 

"  If  I  had  given  a  whole  instead  of  a  half  promise, — . 
and  even  to  that  I  don't  plead  guilty,"  he  said, — "I  must 
needs  have  broken  it.  I  was  working  out  my  time  at 
Wiesbaden.  I  didn't  expect  much  of  the  waters,  luckily, 
or  I  should  have  been  disappointed  ;  but  I  thought  them 
worth  a  trial.  So  you  wear  that  trinket  sometimes  ?  It 
is  highly  honored." 

"  It's  silly  to  be  superstitious,  I  suppose,"  she  said  ; 
"  but  I  never  pretended  to  be  wise.  I  have  great  faith  in 
talismans.  Don't  they  lose  their  virtue  if  they  are  not 
always  worn  ?  Have  you  been  ill,  then  ?  I  had  no  idea 
you  were  at  Wiesbaden  for  health's  sake,  or  I  should  not 
have  accused  you  of  playing  me  false." 

"It  was  nothing  worth  speaking  of,"  he  replied,  indif- 
ferently ;  "  only  the  harvest  of  seed  sown  long  ago  in 
India.  But  I  cannot,  to  speak  truth,  congratulate  you  on 
the  effects  of  Highland  air.  Would  it  be  impertinent  to 
ask  you  the  same  question?" 

"  By  no  means  impertinent :  my  glass  tells  me  the  same 
blunt  truth  every  morning.  No ;  the  air  certainly  didn't 
brace  me  as  it  ought  to  have  done.  I  think  I  never  knew 
what  it  was  to  be  thoroughly  tired  before,  with  no  suffi- 
cient exercise  to  account  for  it." 

"Had  you  a  very  large  party  to  entertain ?"  he  asked. 
"Because  that  is  fatigue  enough  in  itself,  no  matter  how 
pleasant  the  society." 

His  cold  gray  eyes  were  steady,  as  a  rule,  rather  than 
piercing ;  but  now  she  was  aware  of  a  scrutiny  in  them 
that  set  her  on  her  guard. 

"Not  at  all  a  large  party:  only  the  Brancepeths  and 
Mr.  Alsager — these  you  know — and  Colonel  Vane,  an 
old  acquaintance  of  mine  and  Mark's.  To  be  sure,  the 
Irvings  might  almost  be  reckoned  in  our  party,  for  they 
were  more  at  Kenlis  than  at  their  own  place — Drum  our." 

"Captain  Irving  is  married,  then?" 

Blanche  only  half  liked  the  interrogatory,  especially  as 
she  suspected  a  purpose  in  it. 

"He  has  been  a  widower  some  years,"  she  replied, 
with  a  slight  movement  of  impatience,  as  if  she  had  had 
enough  of  the  subject.  "  He  has  one  daughter — a  fasci- 
nating person  in  every  way.  You  can  judge  of  that  for 


2G4  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

yourself,  if  you'll  meet  them  here  at  dinner  to-morrow. 
It's  difficult  to  tempt  you,  I  know;  but,  if  you're  fond  of 
music,  when  you  have  heard  them  sing  together,  you 
won't  repent  for  once  breaking  your  rule.  And  we  shall 
be  such  a  small  party — only  six  with  yourself." 

Anstruther's  deliberation  was  long  and  grave  enough 
to  have  suited  a  weightier  question  than  the  acceptance 
or  refusal  of  a  simple  invitation. 

"Thanks;  you  are  very  kind,"  he  said,  at  last.  "I'm 
ashamed  to  say  that  the  music  is  no  great  temptation  to 
me.  Putting  that  aside,  I  shall  be  glad  to  dine  with  you 
to-morrow." 

Blanche  was  really  pleased.  That  his  old-fashioned 
reserve  should  have  yielded  to  her  first  word  was  a  tri- 
umph in  its  way,  though  scarcely  one  on  which  she  would 
have  plumed  herself  a  year  ago ;  and  it  was  a  certain 
satisfaction  to  feel  that  the  virtue  of  persuasion  had  not 
wholly  gone  out  of  her. 

"  That  is  prettily  said,"  she  answered.  "  The  bad  habit 
of  always  saying  '  no'  is  difficult  to  cure ;  but  your  case 
cannot  be  desperate  yet.  I  shall  reckon  on  you;  and,  if 
you  fail  me  this  time,  don't  expect  to  be  forgiven." 

"There's  no  danger  of  my  failing,"  Anstruther  an- 
swered, as  he  rose  to  take  his  leave.  "A  punctual  eight, 
I  suppose  ?  Don't  blame  me  if  your  party  is  spoiled ;  a 
stranger  coming  among  intimates  is  apt  to  be  a  kill-joy." 

"We'll  take  our  chance  of  that,"  she  said.  "I  wish  I 
were  as  sure  that  you  wouldn't  be  bored.  Till  to-morrow, 
then." 

It  doesn't  at  all  follow  that  an  interview  should  have 
been  disagreeable,  either  in  anticipation  or  reality,  be- 
cause we  are  sensible  of  a  relief  when  it  is  over.  There 
was  not  the  smallest  necessity  for  Anstruther  to  have 
presented  himself  on  that  day,  or,  indeed,  on  any  other, 
before  Mrs.  Ramsay.  He  had  taken  some  pains  to  ascer- 
tain where  she  was  staying,  and  had  mounted  those 
stairs  entirely  of  his  own  free  will ;  yet  he  descended 
them  with  something  like  a  lightening  of  spirit.  It  may 
be  that  he  had  distrusted  his  self-command  more  than  he 
cared  to  confess  to  himself,  and  was  proportionately  in- 
clined to  rejoice  that  it  had  carried  him  through  without 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  265 

a  stumble.  Yet,  for  all  this,  he  despised  himself  not  a 
whix,  less  heartily  now  than  he  had  done  when  he  first 
recognized  his  weakness  and  ceased  to  fight  against  it. 
He  was  not  destitute  of  a  grim  sense  of  humor;  and  the 
ridicule  of  the  whole  position  struck  him  so  forcibly  that 
twice  or  thrice,  as  he  walked  through  the  streets,  he  could 
scarcely  forbear  laughing  aloud.  And  this  man — you 
will  remember — for  a  score  of  years  past  had  rarely  re- 
warded any  jest,  spoken  or  written,  with  anything  beyond 
a  coldly  appreciative  smile. 

"I  wonder  what  they'd  say  at  the  Orion,"  so  his 
thoughts  ran,  "  if  they  got  an  inkling  of  all  this?  Much 
what  I  should  have  said  last  spring,  I  suppose,  if  I  heard 
that  Blanchmayne  had  eloped  with  somebody  else's  wife, 
or  Thorndyke  had  taken  to  the  squiring  of  dames.  They 
are  neither  of  them  five  years  my  senior,  and  I've  no 
doubt  they  are  twice  as  well  preserved.  Does  it  make  it 
any  better  that  I'm  going  down  hill  with  my  eyes  open  ? 
Better?  A  thousand  times  worse.  I  know  so  well,  too, 
the  very  uttermost  that  I'm  likely  to  win, — a  soft,  shy 
look,  something  like  what  I  saw  to-day;  or  a  whisper, 
— 'You're  so  very  kind,  Mr.  Anstruther  ;  I  know  you'd 
help  me  if  you  could.'  Well,  and  isn't  it  enough  ?  And 
more  than  enough  ?  Just  as  if  the  thing  that  was  George 
Anstruther  a  year  ago  would  not  pass  through  fire  for  a 
lighter  reward  than  the  lightest  of  these  ?  Help  her  ? 
So  I  will,  somehow ;  and  perhaps  without  her  leave  or 
license.  I  half  guess  already  what  has  made  her  cheeks 
so  pale  and  thin.  I'll  see.my  way  clearer  after  to-morrow ; 
but,  if  I  would  keep  my  wits  about  me,  I  must  keep  this 
flutter  quiet.  I'll  have  sleep  to-night  at  any  price." 

Mrs.  Ramsay,  too,  had  her  little  meditation,  all  to  her- 
self, after  her  visitor  had  departed. 

"  There  is  one,  at  all  events,"  she  thought,  "  who  likes 
me  as  well  as  ever — I  almost  fancy,  better  than  ever. 
It's  not  a  very  magnificent  conquest,  to  be  sure.  How 
Queenie  would  laugh  if  she  heard  of  it !  I  wish  she  was 
here  all  the  same  ;  I  do  miss  her  dreadfully.  I  am  sure 
he  guessed  I  had  been  unhappy,  and  pitied  me  in  his 
awkward  way.  It's  very  ungrateful  to  say  so,  but  I'd 
rotlier  he  hadn't  done  either.  There  are  not  above  two 

23 


266  BREAKING  A    BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

or  three  people  alive  that  I  should  like  to  be  pitied  by  — 
much  less  that  I  would  ask  to  help  me.  And,  after  all, 
how  can  any  one  help  ?  Even  I  can  only  wait,  and  hope 
against  hope.  Ah  me !  It's  a  weary  world,  after  all ;  and 
I  used  to  think  it  such  a  pleasant  one,  and  to  think,  too, 
how  sad  it  would  be  to  have  to  leave  it  before  one's 
time.  I  don't  think  so  now.  If  I  couM  have  one  whole 
year  just  like  last  summer,  I'd  be  content  to  lie  down 
quietly  and  trouble  no  one  any  more — not  that  I've  been 
any  trouble  to  Mark  as  yet.  He  ought  to  remember  that, 
whatever  happens.  Perhaps  he  does  remember  it;  for 
he  has  never  spoken  unkindly  to  me  yet.  I  almost  wish 
he  would  sometimes ;  anything  would  be  better  than 
being  put  on  one  side  in  that  off-hand,  good-tempered  way 
And  how  well  drilled  she  is,  too !  Even  Queenie,  though 
I  know  she  was  always  on  the  watch,  never  could  find 
anything  to  quarrel  with  ;  but  how  do  I  know  what  goes 
on  when  she  and  Mark  are  alone  together,  or  how  often 
that  happens  ?  He's  out  the  whole  day  long,  and  it  can't 
be  business  that  keeps  him  ;  for  I  don't  believe  he's  really 
begun  house-hunting  yet.  There — there — I'm  foolish 
again.  I'd  better  order  the  carriage  before  my  eyes  get 
red :  the  air  may  cure  my  headache,  if  it  don't  my  heart- 
ache." 

The  dinner  next  day  went  off  pleasantly  enough.  Put- 
ting Anstruther  out  of  the  question,  it  was  almost  a  family 
party ;  for  the  sixth  guest  was  Vere  Alsager,  and  when 
people,  who  have  lived  for  some  space  in  the  same  country 
quarters,  meet  for  the  first  time  in  town,  they  generally 
feel  more  or  less  domestic  for  the  moment.  Anstruther 
said  but  little,  and  that  little  chiefly  to  Mrs.  Ramsay,  on 
whose  right  hand  he  was  placed;  but  his  presence  was 
no  constraint  on  the  others,  and  Mark — who  was  invari- 
ably courteous  to  each  and  every  one  of  his  wife's  friends 
or  acquaintance — soon  put  the  stranger  thoroughly  at  his 
ease.  Prejudiced  as  he  was  against  Ramsay,  and  little 
inclined  to  appreciate  mere  outward  graces,  Anstruther 
was  not  thoroughly  proof  against  the  charm  of  the  other's 
manner;  and,  when  the  women  had  departed,  he  moved 
— not  unwillingly — into  the  chair  next  to  his  host's. 

"  I  was  rather  disappointed  in  not  seeing  you  at  the 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  267 

club  this  afternoon,  Mr.  Aiistruther,"  Irving  remarked. 
"  They  tell  me  you  rarely  fail  to  put  in  an  appearance 
there." 

"  I  had  business  that  detained  me,"  the  other  answered, 
rather  hesitatingly.  He  had  been  so  much  out  of  the  way 
of  conventionalities,  that  even  an  excuse  came  lamely  off 
his  tongue.  "  I  shall  take  my  lesson  before  long,  rely 
upon  it." 

"It's  the  other  way,  from  what  I  hear,"  Irving  said. 
"  The  viscount  allowed  that  'you  were  acquainted  with 
the  first  principles  of  the  game,'  so  you  must  be  nearly 
de  la  premiere  force ;  but  that  wasn't  why  I  specially 
wished  to  meet  you.  Ramsay's  name  was  put  up  there 
to-day,  with  Blanchmayne  as  his  proposer,  and  I  meant  to 
ask  you  to  second  him.  I'd  have  done  it  myself,  of  course, 
but  I've  been  at  the  Orion  so  rarely  of  late  that  I'm  almost 
forgotten  now  ;  and  you  are  as  one  in  authority,  I  under- 
stood." 

Now,  though  Anstruther  had  small  liking  or  esteem  for 
Blanche's  husband,  the  proposal  would  have  been  less  dis- 
tasteful coming  from  any  other  channel.  Long  judicial 
practice,  and  natural  keenness  of  perception,  had  made  him 
no  mean  physiognomist.  At  all  events,  he  had  got  accus- 
tomed to  facial  warnings,  and  to  rest  a  good  deal  on  first 
impressions ;  and  these  had  rarely  deceived  him.  He  had 
not  watched  that  partie  of  picquet  two  days  ago  for 
naught.  He  had  begun  to  distrust  from  the  very  first 
those  smooth  delicate  features  and  glittering  eyes,  and 
guessed  that  sharp  cruel  talons  could  come  forth  on  occa- 
sion from  the  velvet  paws.  He  would  never  thereafter 
have  met  Alexander  Irving,  in  any  relation  of  life  where 
his  own  or  a  friend's  interest  was  deeply  concerned,  with- 
out standing  somewhat  on  his  guard.  In  the  very  proposal 
that  he,  George  Anstruther,  should  avouch  Mark  Ramsay 
a  good  man  and  true,  there  was  something  that  jarred  ; 
but,  coming  from  that  especial  quarter,  it  sounded  ominous 
and  unnatural.  However,  there  was  no  real  choice  left 
him. 

There  are  persons,  doubtless — luckily  their  name  is  not 
Legion — who,  when  replete  with  old  wine  and  fat  venison, 
would  decline — without  sufficient  cause,  remember — to 


268  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

requite  their  entertainer  with  such  a  slight  service,  and 
depart,  pluming  themselves  on  having  discharged  a  social 
duty  rather  cleverly.  But  Anstruther  was  by  no  means 
equal  to  such  an  occasion  ;  he  hesitated  just  long  enough 
to  prevent  the  acquiescence  being  cordial,  and  then  pro- 
fessed his  willingness  to  become  Mr.  Ramsay's  seconder, 
and  forward  his  election  in  all  reasonable  ways — disclaim- 
ing, at  the  same  time,  anything  like  influence  at  the  Orion. 
The  obliged  person  noticed  the  hesitation,  without  guess- 
ing at  its  cause :  it  rather  amused  him  than  otherwise, 
and  did  not  in  the  least  interfere  with  his  expressions  of 
acknowledgment.  Irving  observed  it  too,  and  was  con-, 
siderably  puzzled  thereby — and  gave  the  puzzle  much 
more  thought  than  Mark  had  done. 

"  What  the  devil  was  he  boggling  at  ?"  said  he  to  him- 
self. "It's  just  of  a  piece  with  his  beginning  to  stammer 
the  other  night  for  no  rhyme  or  reason.  People  with 
mysteries  have  no  business  in  society.  He'll  bring  about 
an  imbroglio  somehow  or  other  before  all's  done :  see  if 
he  don't  I  But '  it's'  not  likely  to  affect  me  or  mine,  that's 
one  comfort." 

Alexander  Irving  remembered  those  last  words — and 
with  cause — before  all  was  done. 

Whatever  his  private  fancies  might  have  been,  no  sign 
of  suspicion  showed  itself  on  the  surface,  and  the  flow  of 
desultory  talk  went  smoothly  on,  till  Alsager,  whose  love 
of  music  amounted  to  a  passion,  suggested  a  move.  Both 
father  and  daughter  were  in  superb  voice  that  night ;  and 
even  Blanche's  admiration  was,  for  the  moment,  sincere. 
But  to  one  man  there  present — though  he  seemed  to 
listen,  in  rapt  attention,  with  half-closed  eyes — the  rich 
melody  was  as  the  flowing  of  a  far-off  torrent,  without 
rhyihm  or  distinguishment  of  sound.  With  all  his  vigi- 
lance— though  neither  eyes  nor  ears  had  for  an  instant 
that  evening  been  off  duty — Anstruther  had  failed  to 
catch  a  look  or  word  whereon  suspicion  might  be  grounded. 
Nevertheless,  he  had  gained  the  first  letter  of  the  word 
which,  once  fully  formed,  would  unlock  the  secret.  Over 
this  he  pondered ;  and,  as  he  drove  homeward  alone,  he 
murmured,  half  aloud, — 

"  A  blight  on  the  false,  fair  face!  I  know  now  what 
makes  the  other  one  so  wan  and  pale." 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  269 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

WHEN  Captain  Irving  spoke  of  the  current  year  as  one 
of  financial  famine,  he  rather  overcolored  the  state  of  the 
case.  That  he  was  still  suffering,  as  he  had  long  suffered, 
from  chronic  insufficiency  of  income  was  perfectly  true  ; 
for  his  life-interest  in  Drumour  was  heavily  encumbered, 
and  never  likely  to  be  otherwise  ;  and  the  sum  derived 
from  the  letting  of  the  house  and  shooting  was  barely 
sufficient  to  cover  household  expenditure,  conducted  on 
ever  so  modest  a  scale.  Unless  the  cards  were  kind, 
luxuries  were  out  of  the  question.  He  had  grown  accus- 
tomed to  thus  living  from  hand  to  mouth,  from  hour  to 
hour,  and  perhaps  did  not  altogether  dislike  it.  He  was 
such  an  inveterate  gambler,  that  increase  of  fortune  would 
only  have  led  to  playing  for  increased  stakes  ;  so  that  a 
heavy  run  of  ill  luck  might  at  any  moment  have  reduced 
him  to  his  present  ebb. 

We  all  know  how  the  Indian  "  brave" — of  the  Cooper- 
type,  of  course — bears  himself  when,  having  lost  his  last 
horse  at  play,  so  that  he  can  course  the  buffalo  no  longer, 
he  sees  the  keg  of  fire-water  empty  and  his  wigwam-walls 
bare  of  meat.  He  wastes  no  breath  in  cursing  or  praying, 
but  chooses  some  convenient  spot  for  ambush,  and  will 
wait  there  patiently  from  dawn  to  evening,  and  from 
evening  to  dawn — only  tightening  his  belt  sometimes  to 
f-hoke  the  wolf  within  him — till  the  Great  Spirit  shall  see 
fit  to  send  game  within  reach  of  his  arrow.  In  Irving, 
an  epicurean  Ly  habit  and  inclination  to  the  tips  of  his 
delicate  fingers,  there  was  a  strong  dash  of  this  simple 
stoicism.  When  he  found  that  his  resources  were  crip- 
pled for  a  time,  he  accepted  the  position  with  perfect  good 
humor,  making  a  jest  of  privation  and  of  the  shifts  that  he 
was  compelled  to  resort  to.  Alice  never  complained,  to 
be  sure  •  that  was  a  great  point;  and,  on  the  whole,  the 

23* 


270  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

wheels  of  their  frail  chariot  rolled  on  more  smoothly  than 
could  have  been  expected. 

Fortune  had  rather  smiled  than  frowned  on  Captain 
Irving  of  late,  or  he  would  not  have  been  found  that  au- 
tumn at  Drumour,  though  there  were  sufficient  reasons 
for  his  presence  there ;  for  the  lease  of  the  house  and 
shooting  had  just  expired,  and  no  eligible  offer  of  fresh 
tenancy  had  been  made  up  to  the  time  when  the  absentee 
resolved  to  try  what  a  spell  of  his  native  air  would  do 
toward  banishing  certain  ailments  that  had  begun  to 
trouble  him.  He  was  not  quite  satisfied  with  the  way  in 
which  his  interests,  such  as  they  were,  had  been  looked 
after  there  of  late ;  and,  though  he  would  have  laughed 
the  very  idea  to  scorn,  there  abode  with  him,  perchance, 
still  some  faint  tinge  of  the  home-sickness  which  is  found 
nowhere  so  strong  as  in  the  Scot.  Indeed,  at  first — though 
out-door  pursuits  were  entirely  out  of  his  line,  and  he  set 
his  foot  upon  his  native  heath  only  under  protest — it  was 
rather  pleasant  to  loiter  about  the  old  haunts,  and  to 
throw  a  fly  into  the  pool  out  of  which  his  first  trout  was 
landed,  and  to  watch  the  sun  go  down  behind  a  hill  that 
was,  nominally  at  least,  his  own.  But,  as  the  novelty 
wore  off,  Irving  began  gravely  to  misdoubt  the  wisdom 
of  his  move  from  Darmstadt ;  before  the  Kenlis-Castle 
party  appeared  upon  the  scene,  he  had  more  than  once 
unmistakably  regretted  it.  Afterward  it  was  different,  of 
course,  and  the  autumn  passed  away  quite  as  rapidly 
as  he  could  wish  ;  but  the  prospect  of  a  Highland  winter 
was  anything  but  inviting.  Nevertheless,  acting  up  to 
his  principle  of  "  what  can't  be  cured  must  be  endured," 
the  Laird  of  Drumour  had  made  up  his  mind  to  be  ice- 
bound ;  and  it  was  only  the  stroke  of  luck  mentioned 
above  that  induced  him  to  alter  his  plans. 

Self  was  bound  to  stand  first  and  foremost  in  all  Cap- 
tain Irving's  calculations;  but  he  was  not  positively  an 
unnatural  father.  Though  parental  solicitude  had  really 
little  to  do  with  his  move  southward,  he  would  never 
have  dreamed  of  leaving  Alice  in  the  North  alone ;  and 
in  his  choice  of  town- quarters  her  comfort  and  conve- 
nience were  certainly  more  studied  than  his  own.  He 
was  not  a  man  of  half-measures,  and,  before  he  decided 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  271 

to  winter  in  London,  had  sufficient  in  hand  to  make  petty 
economies  needless.  He  had  no  notion  of  being  cabined 
in  furnished  apartments,  or  of  testing  his  digestion  by  a 
lodger-cuisine.  Three  of  the  Drumour  household — the 
cook,  butler,  and  Alice's  own  maid — accompanied  their 
master  to  town  ;  and  before  the  week  was  out  the  Irvings 
wrere  established  in  one  of  the  daintiest  maisonnettes  in 
Mayfair — "absolutely  thrown  away,"  according  to  the 
pathetic  house-agent,  at  twelve  guineas  a  week. 

Captain  Irving  was  very  consistent  in  his  habits, 
though  they  were  the  reverse  of  what  are  usually  called 
"regular."  The  time  of  his  going  to  rest  was  rather  un- 
certain, to  be  sure;  about  two  A.M.,  rather  before  than 
after,  would  have  been  a  fair  average.  From  that  time 
up  to  noon  the  outer  world,  with  the  exception  of  his  valet, 
had  no  cognizance  of  or  communication  with  him.  Punc- 
tually, or  almost  punctually,  at  that  hour  he  breakfasted 
in  foreign  fashion,  and  was  choice  in  his  light  wines.  Un- 
less she  had  some  exceptional  engagement,  which  rarely 
happened,  he  liked  Alice  to  keep  him  company  at  the  meal. 
It  was  not  :i  heavy  tax  on  filial  duty,  and  was  about  the 
only  one  she  was  called  upon  to  render.  Of  the  rest  of 
the  day  she  was  free  to  dispose  according  to  her  pleasure; 
and  a  brougham  with  a  coachman  "warranted  steady" 
was  at  her  service  to  carry  her  whither  she  would.  No 
matter  what  the  weather,  her  father  went  forth  soon  after 
one,  and  never  by  any  chance  put  in  an  appearance  again 
till  close  on  dressing-time.  First  he  drove,  or,  if  the 
morning  was  exceptionally  fine,  sauntered,  down  to  his 
club  at  the  corner  of  Pall  Mall,  where  he  usually  met 
three  or  four  ancient  comrades,  who  remembered  Alec 
Irving  as  "devilish  good  company"  when  they  were  all 
beardless  guardsmen  together,  and  were  quite  willing  to 
chat  with  him  now,  in  spite  of  the  scandals  that  had  since 
attached  to  his  name — scandals  almost  forgotten  by  this 
time,  even  if  they  didn't  come  within  the  social  Statute 
of  Limitations.  After  lounging  away  an  hour  or  so  here, 
he  went  about  any  business  he  might  have  on  hand,  such 
as  a  visit  to  his  banker's ;  but  by  three,  or  thereabouts, 
he  generally  found  himself  opposite'  Lord  Blanchmayne, 
or  some  other  antagonist  of  the  like  caliber,  at  the  pic- 


272  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

quet-table.  Thence  he  returned  straight  home,  just  in 
time  for  a  leisurely  evening  toilet.  This  ceremonial  he 
was  never  known  to  pretermit;  and  whether  he  dined 
alone  with  Alice  or  in  society  made  no  sort  of  difference 
either  in  the  process  or  the  result.  In  the  former  case  he 
rather  lingered  than  hurried  over  his  repast,  and  dallied 
for  at  least  twenty  minutes  with  his  coffee  and  chasse;  but 
it  was  rarely  much  past  ten  when  he  bade  his  daughter 
an  affectionate  good-night  and  departed  to  his  club  again. 
When  they  dined  in  society,  which  was  seldom,  the 
brougham  always  left  him  at  the  Orion,  after  dropping 
Alice  at  home. 

It  was  a  strange,  lonely  life  for  a  woman  in  the  prime 
of  youth  and  beauty ;  for,  with  the  exception  of  a  maiden 
aunt  whom  she  could  not  endure,  and  a  couple  of  cousins 
whom  she  hardly  knew,  Alice  had  no  relatives  in  town ; 
and,  from  having  sojourned  so  long  abroad,  her  acquaint- 
ance scarcely  extended  beyond  the  people  she  had  met  at 
Kenlis. 

But  was  it  so  certain  that  her  life  was  lonely  ? 

Most  parents,  however  wrapped  up  in  their  own  pur- 
suits, would  have  found  time  to  ask  themselves  that  ques- 
tion, if  not  of  others.  But  Alice  had  been  so  used  to  be 
left  to  her  own  devices,  and  her  father's  conscience  had  so 
long  ago  ceased  to  prick  him  on  that  point,  that  perhaps 
it  was  only  likely  that  the  existing  state  of  things  should 
seem,  to  both,  the  most  natural  arrangement  possible. 
What  turned  Captain  Irving's  meditations  into  a  partic- 
ular channel  on  a  particular  morning  it  would  be  very  diffi- 
cult to  say.  It  so  happened  that  he  had  won  largely 
over-night;  but  an  equally  heavy  reverse  would  not  have 
accounted  for  his  being  captious,  or  fretful,  or  inclined  to 
disturb  the  peace  of  his  establishment.  In  this  respect 
he  was  a  model  for  better  men.  Possibly  some  vision 
had  disquieted  him.  No  philosopher,  unless  his  digestion 
be  faultless,  can  afford  to  laugh  at  dreams.  Howsoever 
this  might  be,  it  was  clear  that  something  was  amiss  with 
Irving  just  now.  He  was  unusually  taciturn  at  breakfast, 
and  sent  away  one  of  his  favorite  dishes  almost  untasted. 
If  bis  brow  was  not  precisely  stormy,  it  was  certainly 
overcast.  Alice  was  not  a  whit  alarmed  bv  these  unusual 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  273 

demonstrations,  but  rather  curious  to  know  their  mean- 
ing. At  last,  glancing  up  from  her  Post,  she  asked  her 
father  point-blank  what  he  was  thinking  about. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  he  answered,  very  deliberately, "  what 
a  pity  it  was  your  mother  died  so  soon." 

Alice  opened  her  great  eyes  in  wonder.  Truly,  to  find 
grapes  growing  on  thorns,  or  milk  flowing  in  a  barren 
land,  would  have  seemed  likelier  than  a  gush  of  senti- 
ment from  such  a  source. 

"Do  you  really  think  it  a  pity?"  she  said,  placidly. 
"  I  always  fancied  poor  mamma  was  saved  so  much 
trouble.  It  must  have  been  a  great  loss  to  you  at  first ; 
but  I  fancied  you  had  quite  got  over  it." 

The  satire  was  quite  sufficiently  veiled  for  Irving  to 
have  passed  it  by  at  any  other  time;  now,  he  winced 
perceptibly. 

"  I  wouldn't  sneer,  if  I  were  you ;  it  don't  suit  your 
style  of  face ;  besides,  there's  no  point  in  it,  as  it  happens. 
It  was  for  your  sake,  not  for  mine,  that  I  thought  it  was 
a  pity.  Your  mother  was  not  a  clever  woman;  but  she 
would  have  been  about  equal  to  playing  duenna;  and  it 
seems  to  me  you  want  one.  Now  we  are  on  the  sub- 
ject— What  are  your  engagements  this  afternoon  ?" 

"  Nothing  tremendous,"  she  answered.  "  I  think  of 
going  to  see  the  pictures  at  the  Winter  Exhibition,  and 
then  I  shall  pay  a  duty-visit  to  Aunt  Caroline.  She's 
quite  enough  of  a  bore  as  it  is,  without  making  herself 
out  neglected." 

"  Do  you  go  to  the  pictures  alone?" 

"I  go  alone,  certainly;  I  believe  Mr.  Ramsay  will 
meet  me  there.  He  has  a  marked  catalogue,  which  will 
be  very  useful." 

"  Very  useful,  no  doubt.  Now,  when  did  you  see  his 
wife  last  ?" 

The  dry,  semi-judicial  tone  of  these  queries  puzzled 
Alice  exceedingly,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  and  her  color 
began  to  heighten. 

"I  forget  whether  it  was  on  Thursday  or  Friday. 
What  makes  you  ask?" 

"Never  mind  what  makes  me  ask;    but  answer  me 
S 


274  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

one  more  question.     When  did  you  see  him  last  ?     Per- 
haps your  memory  won't  fail  you  there." 

"I  saw  him  yesterday,"  she  said,  with  perfect  com- 
posure. "It's  quite  a  new  idea,  papa,  your  taking  so 
much  interest  in  my  visits  and  visitors:  I  suppose  I 
ought  to  feel  flattered." 

"  You  may  suppose  I  have  some  reason  for  it,  at  all 
events.  Alice,  listen  to  me.  I  have  a  suspicion — only 
a  faint  suspicion,  mind — that  there's  some  fooling  afoot 
between  you  and  Mark  Ramsay.  Now,  once  for  all,  I 
won't  have  it.  There  are  people  who  can  carry  off 
such  things  with  a  high  hand,  simply  by  virtue  of  their 
position;  but  we're  not  strong  enough  to  muzzle  the 
scandal-mongers,  and  I  don't  intend  that  half  the  idle 
tongues  in  London  should  be  set  wagging  at  our  expense. 
I  don't  know  what  they  may  do  in  America ;  but  I  do 
know  there's  no  country  in  Europe  where  a  girl  can  carry 
flirtation  with  a  married  man  beyond  a  certain  point 
without  risking  her  reputation.  Do  you  understand  me? 
or  shall  I  speak  plainer  ?" 

The  girl  drew  herself  up  haughtily.  There  was  a 
strong  family  likeness  betwixt  the  two;  though  in  Alice 
there  were  outward  signs  of  an  energy  of  existence,  of  a 
viuida  vis,  as  the  Latins  have  it,  and  of  a  quick  energy, 
that  could  never  have  belonged  to  her  father ;  for,  from 
his  youth  upward,  Irving's  demeanor  had  been  marked 
by  a  listless  indifference — not  only  to  things  in  general, 
but  to  the  matter  actually  in  hand ;  and  this  had  told 
heavily  against  him  in  his  by-gone  fredaines.  People 
would  have  it  that  he  sinned  not  from  impulse,  but  of 
aforethought, — and  gave  judgment  accordingly.  This 
outward  likeness  was  never  so  striking  as  when  their 
faces  hardened. 

"  Yes,  I  understand  you,"  she  said,  low  and  distinctly. 
"  There's  no  need  for  plainer  speaking.  Married  flirta- 
tions are  utterly  unpardonable,  unless  they  are  carried 
on  with  a  purpose.  Conscientious  scruples  are  always 
to  be  respected,  of  course.  I  almost  wonder,  papa,  that 
these  didn't  develop  themselves  eighteen  months  ago,  in 
dear,  dull,  respectable  Darmstadt.  There,  surely,  if  any- 
where, one  would  have  thought  we  ought  to  have  been 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDIXG.  275 

careful  about  the  proprieties.  Wasn't  it  rather  impru- 
dent to  give  Vladimir  Hunyadi  the  entree  to  our  house 
at  all  sorts  of  hours  ?  Perhaps  I  was  dreaming  when  I 
heard  him  talk  about  the  wife  he  had  left  behind  in 
Hungary?  That  was  in  the  early  part  of  our  acquaint- 
ance, to  be  sure  ;  he  didn't  mention  her  often  afterward. 
The  poor  Magyar !  I  hope  his  grafin  was  not  very  un- 
forgiving when  he  went  back  to  confess  that  he  was  half 
ruined." 

"  He  lost  his  money  fairly,"  Irving  said,  without  lift- 
ing his  eyes ;  "  and  he  was  an  honest,  hot-headed  fool ; 
not  a  cool,  pitiless  devil,  like  this  last  friend  of  yours.  I 
have  heard  enough  about  him,  if  you  haven't." 

Her  laugh  was  very  musical,  but  not  altogether  pleas- 
ant to  hear. 

"Lost  his  money  fairly;  not  a  doubt  of  that:  just  as 
fairly  as  he  would  have  lost  his  life,  if  he  had  stood  oppo- 
site you  d,  la  barriere.  It's  only  just ;  skill  should  cor- 
rect luck,  you  know.  But,  papa,  that  idea  about  '  this 
last  friend  of  mine '  is  quite  impaydble  Perhaps  it  was 
I  who  proposed  that  we  should  accept  the  first  invitation 
from  Kenlis,  and  proposed  going  there  each  night  after- 
ward,  and  started  the  idea  of  our  wintering  in  town  in- 
stead of  at  Drumour?  It's  very  odd.  I  have  been 
laboring  under  the  delusion  it  was  just  the  other  way.  I 
suppose  you  have  heard  all  those  dreadful  stories  about 
Mr.  Ramsay  since  you  came  to  town,  and  they  will  con- 
tinue to  torment  you  till— till  next  August,  let  us  say; 
and  you  have  begun  to  ponder  over  them  since  you  found 
a  better  match  for  you  at  picquet.  Confess,  now :  isn't 
it  so?" 

It  was  long  since  Irving  had  been  so  nearly  on  the 
verge  of  a  vulgar  outbreak  of  anger.  His  face  grew 
actually  paler  in  the  effort  he  made  to  repress  it. 

"Insolence  isn't  argument,  you'll  find;  and,  whether 
you  comprehend  them  or  not,  you'll  have  to  obey 
orders." 

She  answered  gently,  almost  humbly ;  yet  there  was 
no  submission  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  don't  mean  to  be  insolent,  or  rebellious  either ;  but, 
papa,  before  you  give  your  orders,  wouldn't  it  be  well  we 


216  BREAKING  A  BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

should  understand  each  other?  Surely  it's  too  soon — or 
too  late — for  MS  to  quarrel.  Have  you  forgotten  the  com- 
pact we  made  just  a  week  after  I  came  of  age,  when  I 
signed  away  all — it  was  little  enough,  Heaven  knows — 
that  I  had  power  over?  It  was  agreed  then  that  I  should 
be  absolute  mistress  of  my  own  actions  thenceforth,  and 
that  I  might  spend  my  allowance  and  my  time  exactly  as 
it  seemed  to  me  good.  I  didn't  ask  for  any  thanks  then, 
because  I  considered  that  I  got  an  equivalent  for  what 
I  gave.  I  bought  my  freedom  with  a  price ;  and  it's  too 
much  to  expect  me  not  to  use  my  own,  or  to  abandon  it 
so  soon." 

Her  father's  face  had  grown  darker  and  darker. 

"And  do  you  expect  me  to  sit  smiling  and  blinking, 
while  you  walk  straight  to  your  shame  ?  Curse  your 
compacts !  They  wouldn't  hoodwink  a  county  bench  or 
a  Blankshire  jury.  Now,  Alice,  you  ought  to  know  me 
by  .this  time.  I'm  not  given  to  bluster.  I'll  watch  you 
both  narrowly,  and,  if  I  have  reason  to  beHeve  that  Mark 
Ramsay  means  foul  play — whether  you  are  his  accom- 
plice or  not — I'll  give  him  no  more  chance  than  I  would 
a  mad  dog  at  large.  Now  you  can  act  as  you  please." 

Her  courage  was  beyond  that  which  commonly  falls  to 
the  lot  of  woman ;  and  in  presence  of  physical  or  purely 
personal  danger,  many  of  the  ruder  sex  might  have 
envied  her  name ;  but  she  grew  a  coward  now,  all  in  a 
moment.  Yes,  she  knew  her  father  only  too  well:  she 
knew  that  in  those  delicate  blue  veins  flowed  the  bitter 
Irving  blood,  which  even  within  her  memory,  to  say 
nothing  of  worse  deeds  in  the  aforetime,  had  broken  out 
to  deadly  effect.  She  knew  that  when  he  had  once 
passed  the  bounds  of  cool  calculation,  neither  fear  of 
God  nor  of  man  would  turn  him  back  from  the  work 
whereto  his  hand  was  set.  It  had  always  been  so — in 
anger  as  in  love — and  would  be  so  again.  But  she  was 
too  wise  to  show  one  sign  of  the  terror  that  was  master- 
ing her ;  and  she  looked  straight  into  her  father's  eyes — 
lifted  now — smiling. 

"We're  getting  quite  melodramatic.  What  a  pity 
we  have  no  audience !  But  that  tragic  pose  was  unneces- 
sary, papa.  So  you  actually  gave  me  credit  for  mis- 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  277 

placed  affection,  and  unfortunate  attachment,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing  ?  How  very  nice  of  you !  Now,  isn't  it 
barely  possible  that  I  might  flirt  for  a  purpose  of  my  own 
instead  of  a  purpose  of  yours  ?" 

"I  don't  see  what  you're  driving  at,"  he  muttered,  in 
a  much  more  placable  tone,  though. 

"Have  you  ever  considered  the  position  in  which  I 
should  be  placed  at  your  death?  I  have.  To  be  sure, 
I'm  the  person  most  interested  in  the  matter  I  should 
be  simply  penniless — that's  all :  for  every  acre  of  Dru- 
mour  is  entailed;  and,  if  the  cards  ran  ever  so  luckily, 
you  would  never  leave  a  large  balance  at  your  banker's. 
Wouldn't  it  be  a  great  satisfaction  to  you  in  your  last 
moments,  papa,  if  you  left  me  established  for  life  at  Kenlis 
Castle  ?  You  needn't  lift  your  eyebrows  so  contemptu- 
ously :  more  improbable  things  have  come  to  pass.  Mark 
Ramsay  would  marry  me  to-morrow,  if  anything  hap- 
pened to  his  wife ;  and  I  doubt  if  hers  is  a  good  life — 
certainly  not  as  good  as  mine." 

Irving  was  fairly  dazzled  for  the  moment  by  the  light 
that  broke  in  upon  him.  He  rose  to  his  feet  with  a  long, 
low  whistle,  and  then  said  softly  to  himself, — 

"The  devil!" 

It  was  much  as  if  a  devout  Catholic  had  crossed  him- 
self, invoking  his  patron  saint — only  different  people  have 
different  ways  of  expressing  surprise. 

"And  in  the  mean  time — if  there  is  a  mean  time" — he 
said,  after  a  pause — "  what  do  you  mean  to  do  ?" 

"  I  mean  to  take  very  good  care  of  myself,"  she  an- 
swered, with  a  sauciness  that  became  her  infinitely, — 
"just  as  I  have  done  for  the  last  seven  years.  Don't  you 
think  I  am  still  capable  of  it?" 

The  father  looked  down  upon  the  daughter  with  a 
benignity  beautiful  to  behold— such  as  might  light  up  the 
countenance  of  a  pious  parent  gathering  the  first-fruits 
of  good  seed  sown  in  early  days. 

"  Yes ;  I  really  think  you  can  be  trusted." 

And  he  dropped  a  kiss  of  peace  lightly  on  her  forehead. 

"Well,  now  you're  sensible  again,"  Alice  remarked,  "I 
don't  mind  confiding  to  you  that  Mr.  Alsager  is  to  be 
there  too  this  afternoon.  There's  safety  in  numbers ;  and 

24 


2  [8  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

if  he's  not  a  very  efficient  chaperon,  he  can  point  out 
what  I  ought  to  admire." 

Her  father's  good  humor  was  not  to  be  ruffled  again. 

"  You  little  plague,  why  couldn't  you  say  as  much  at 
first  ?  You'd  have  had  your  lecture  some  day  or  another, 
so  it  don't  much  matter.  Well,  be  prudent,  and  don't 
give  the  dowagers  a  chance.  You  are  too  handsome  to 
be  let  off  easily." 

Irving  went  forth  in  unusually  high  spirits  that  day. 
He  had  done  with  moral  scruples  long  ago.  But  the 
talons  hid  in  the  velvet  paws  would  have  sprung  out 
none  the  less  sharply  to  punish  a  taint  of  Alice's  good 
name.  Making  a  jest  of  most  things  that  good  men 
believe  in,  he  was  specially  apt  to  mock  at  the  virtue  of 
womankind;  but  in  this  one  woman's  power  to  walk 
unscathed  among  snares  and  pitfalls  he  had  implicit 
belief.  He  was  right — so  far. 

In  those  last  two  syllables  is  struck  the  key-note  of 
many  threnodies.  If  the  sad  old  parable  of  the  pitcher 
carried  once  too  often  to  the  well  applies  sometimes  to 
those  who  never  sleep  or  wake  without  whispering, 
"Lead  us  not  into  temptation,"  how  much  more  nearly 
ought  it  to  touch  those  who,  save  for  certain  forms  of 
outward  observance,  might  as  well  have  been  born  in 
Heathenesse !  Whether  the  vessel  be  wrought  of  coarse 
delft,  or  tawdry  china,  or  porcelain  more  precious  than 
the  ancient  Myrrhine  ware,  matters  but  little,  when  there 
remains  naught  thereof  but  a  heap  of  shards,  unworthy 
a  beggar's  gathering. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

DAYS,  weeks,  and  months  passed  on,  bringing  little 
outward  change  to  any  of  the  chief  actors  of  this  story. 
The  estrangement  between  Ramsay  and  his  wife  con- 
tinued ;  and  at  last  even  the  world  began  to  remark  that 
those  two  were  never,  by  any  chance,  seen  together, 
except  at  some  great  dinner-party,  or  other  similar  cere- 
monial. 

They  were  established  long  ago  in  a  furnished  house, 
"adapted,"  to  quote  the  advertisement,  "to  the  most 
luxurious  requirements."  But  the  great  reception-rooms 
were  never  used;  for  Mrs.  Ramsay's  excuse  of  " not  feel- 
ing strong  enough  to  entertain  on  a  large  scale"  was  no 
false  plea ;  and  Mark  was  not  likely  to  suggest  any 
arrangement  that  would  often  have  necessitated  his  pres- 
ence at  home.  Blanche  never  complained,  or  in  any  wise 
took  her  husband  to  task  for  his  neglect ;  but  beyond  a 
certain  point  she  would  not  dissemble.  Long  before  the 
winter  was  over,  she  had  ceased  to  affect  any  anxiety  to 
keep  up  an  intimacy  with  the  Irvings.  She  received 
them  at  her  own  house  occasionally,  and  dined  at  theirs 
in  return  in  due  course  ;  and  on  these  occasions — or  the 
still  rarer  ones  when  they  met  on  neutral  ground — her 
manner  was  courteous,  without  a  spark  of  cordiality. 
Once,  and  once  only,  she  had  expressed  herself  plainly 
on  this  subject.  It  happened  thus: 

There  was  a  private  concert  to  be  given,  at  which,  be- 
sides other  attractions,  a  famous  cantatrice  from  La  Scala 
was  to  appear  for  the  first  time  in  England.  For  one 
reason  or  another,  invitations  were  exceedingly  difficult 
to  obtain ;  and  even  to  Mrs.  Ramsay,  popular  as  she 
was,  only  two  were  vouchsafed.  By  a  very  rare  chance, 
Mark  was  lunching  at  home  when  these  arrived. 

"The  second  one's  in  blank,  I  see,"  he  observed,  after 
glancing  at  the  card.  "How  do  you  mean  to  fill  it  up, 


280  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

Blanche  ?  It  would  be  very  good-natured  of  you  if  you 
were  to  take  Alice." 

Even  before  they  left  Kenlis  he  had  begun  to  speak  of 
her  thus. 

"Perhaps so,"  his  wife  answered,  composedly;  "but  I 
don't  feel  particularly  good-natured  this  morning ;  and 
Alice  has  so  many  opportunities  of  amusement  of  one  sort 
or  another,  from  what  I  hear,  that  I  think  she  can  afford 
to  wait.  Besides,  I've  settled  to  take  Ida  Jocelyn,  if  I 
take  any  one." 

An  evil  change  came  over  Ramsay's  face.  It  only 
lasted  for  a  second,  and  its  precise  expression  could  hardly 
have  been  denned.  It  was  not  so  much  anger  as  sur- 
prise, with  perhaps  a  little  aversion,  and  a  tinge  of  vexa- 
tion, as  though  he  had  whispered  to  himself, — 

"Tu  me  lo  pagherai." 

But  this  was  what  he  said  aloud,  and  he  said  it 
smiling :-~ 

"  Of  course  you'll  do  exactly  as  you  please ;  mine  was 
the  merest  suggestion.  You  can't  accuse  me  of  inter- 
fering with  your  arrangements.  But  I  think  you're  more 
good-natured  than  you  take  credit  for,  or  you  wouldn't 
have  gratified  Mrs.  Jocelyn.  Next  to  her  husband,  she's 
quite  the  greatest  bore  of  our  acquaintance." 

He  had  risen  as  he  spoke,  and  was  sauntering  out  of 
the  room  when  Blanche  called  him  back. 

"Wait  one  moment,  Mark:  I  have  never  accused  you 
of  interfering,  and  you  must  do  me  the  same  justice.  It's 
just  as  well  that  you  should  understand  that,  if  I  hadn't 
arranged  to  take  Ida  Jocelyn,  I  should  not  have  taken 
Alice  Irving.  And  if  at  any  time  she  should  want  a 
chaperon,  she  must  not  reckon  on  me.  My  reason  is  very 
simple:  I  don't  like  her." 

There  was  nothing  in  his  face  now  but  lazy  astonish- 
ment. 

"Is  it  possible?  I  fancied  you  got  on  capitally  to- 
gether. Now,  I  rather  like  her,  as  it  happens.  If  we  ever 
have  a  discussion,  Blanche,  I  hope  it  won't  arise  from 
simple  variety  of  taste.  !  May  difference  of  opinion' — I 
forget  the  rest  of  the  toast  or  sentiment ;  but  it's  much 
to  the  same  purpose.  You  needn't  stand  too  much  on  the 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  281 

defensive.    I  don't  think  there's  much  fear  in  that  quarter 
of  your  being  impressed  into  chaperon-service." 

And  so  Mark  effected  an  orderly  and  leisurely  retreat — 
having  certainly  not  got  the  worst  of  the  light  skirmish, 
though  Blanche  stood  on  the  vantage-ground  of  one 
who,  having  been  asked  to  grant  a  favor,  has  declined  for 
good  and  sufficient  cause.  A  bolder  and  wiser  matron 
would  doubtless  have  swooped  down  on  the  opportunity 
for  the  which  she  had  watched  all  the  time  she  was 
circling  so  tranquilly.  But  this  gentle  bird  had  never 
stooped  on  anything  rougher  than  a  rose-branch — and 
then  with  no  direr  intent  than  resting  there  awhile,  or, 
at  the  very  worst,  pecking  at  a  petal.  If  she  had  acted 
up  to  a  stern  sense  of  duty,  would  it  have  fared  better 
with  her  then  or  thereafter  ?  For  myself,  I  doubt  it.  At 
any  rate,  the  opening — such  as  it  was — was  lost,  and  did 
not  recur  again  for  many  a  day. 

The  Ramsays  spent  their  Christmas  at  Brancepeth 
Castle :  it  was  an  engagement  of  some  standing,  and 
Mark  could  not  avoid  it  with  any  good  grace ;  nor,  in- 
deed, did  he  attempt  to  do  so.  La  Reine,  though  she  had 
many  guests  to  attend  to,  found  time  to  watch  both  hus- 
band and  wife  narrowly  on  the  first  evening  of  their  stay. 
Her  bright  eyes  grew  misty  once  or  twice,  and  her  honest 
heart  burned  hotly  within  her,  as  she  saw  how  fearfully 
those  few  weeks  spent  in  town  had  told  on  the  one,  and 
how  utterly  indifferent  the  other  was  to  the  change.  It 
was  with  great  difficulty  that  she  kept  her  anger  in  check 
when  her  remark,  "How  very  pale  and  ill  Blanche  is 
looking !"  was  answered  by,  "Do  you  really  think  so? 
I  hadn't  noticed  it.  A  little  tired  with  the  journey,  per- 
haps." 

"Journey!"  That  was  all  she  said  ;  but  the  word  was 
like  a  missile,  and  she  fluttered  her  fan  till  the  sticks 
cracked  again.  If  it  had  been  in  the  old  times,  when 
buffets  were  dealt  by  soft  no  less  than  by  horny  hands, 
I  think  there  would  have  lighted  on  somebody's  cheek, 
just  then,  rather  a  stinging  salute. 

Blanche  herself  owned  that  she  felt  weaker  and  duller 
lately;  but  beyond  this  she  could  not  be  brought  to  con- 
fession, and  Lady  Laura  had  not  the  heart  to  press  her 

24* 


282  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

"It's  no  good  talking  over  one's  ailments,  I  know,"  she 
said,  "so  we'll  drop  the  subject  altogether;  and,  while 
you're  here,  suppose  you've  nothing  whatever  the  matter 
with  you.  You  sha'n't  have  a  moment's  worry,  if  I  can 
help  it ;  and  I  mean  to  send  you  away  in  as  rude  health 
as  it's  in  your  nature  to  be — as  if  you  could  be  rude,  if 
you  tried." 

These  sanguine  expectations  were  not  exactly  realized  ; 
but  Blanche's  state  both  of  body  and  mind  was  doubt- 
less improved  by  the  fortnight's  respite.  For  that  brief 
space  she  need  not  disquiet  herself  about  Mark's  goings 
out  and  comings  in.  There  was  truce  to  the  jealousies 
and  disappointments,  not  the  less  keenly  felt  because  they 
recurred  so  incessantly ;  and  she  even  fancied — it  might 
have  been  only  fancy,  poor  thing — that  there  was  more 
of  kindness  in  his  manner.  It  was  the  palest  image,  at 
best,  of  the  old  devotion ;  but  is  not  even  a  shadow  a 
relief  on  a  dead,  blank  wall  ? 

Mark  had  never  been  very  enthusiastic  about  field- 
sports  :  however,  he  took  to  them  now  with  a  will,  and 
was  seldom  to  be  found  within-doors  when  anything  was 
to  be  done  afield  with  a  gun  or  in  saddle.  But  twice  or 
thrice  he  lounged  into  his  wife's  apartment  half  an  hour 
before  dressing-time,  and  chatted  to  her  about  the  day's 
performance.  La  Reine  always  knew  when  this  had  hap- 
pened, by  Blanche's  appearance  when  she  came  down  to 
dinner;  and  a  comparative  stranger  remarked,  on  one  of 
these  occasions,  "  What  a  very  variable  face  it  is !  It  looked 
so  wan  and  worn  at  luncheon,  and  to-night  she's  girlishly 
pretty."  But  old  Marlshire  acquaintances  shook  their 
heads  as  they  confided  to  each  other  "that  they  had 
always  thought  Mrs.  Ramsay  delicate.  That  clear  white 
complexion  often  went  with  heart-disease ;  and  she  seemed 
so  strangely  out  of  spirits,  too." 

One  day,  when  the  hounds  met  within  easy  distance, 
Blanche  was  driven  to  the  meet  by  her  hostess.  Seyton 
of  Warleigh  was  the  master  now;  and,  as  soon  as  the 
phaeton  appeared,  he  ranged  up  alongside  to  exchange 
greetings  with  its  occupants. 

"Why,  almost  the  last  time  I  saw  you  out,"  he  said  to 
Blanche — "the  very  last,  I  do  believe — was  that  famous 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  283 

Pinkerton  day,  when  Ranksborough  and  Vane  had  their 
swimming-match.  Do  you  remember  it,  Mrs.  Ramsay  ?" 

Her  ans\ver  was  not  very  distinct,  and  she  drew  down 
her  veil,  as  Seyton  turned  away,  to  hide  some  foolish  tears. 
Y"es,  she  remembered  it  too  well — how,  just  to  pass  the 
time,  she  coquetted  with  Leo  Armitage,  and  provoked 
Vereker  Vane's  jealous  wrath ;  and  how — a  little  fright- 
ened, but  scarcely  repentant — she  had  watched  him  ride 
down  headlong  on  the  Swarle.  Was  it  possible  that  she 
was  the  same  Blanche  Ellerslie  who  had  played  at  cup- 
and-ball  with  men's  hearts,  feeling  just  an  idle  interest  in 
the  game,  and  a  certain  pride  in  her  own  skill  ?  Some- 
thing of  this,  though  not  in  so  many  words,  she  hinted 
to  her  companion.  That  the  comparison  had  struck  La 
Reine  too  was  evident,  though  she  endeavored  to  answer 
jestingly:— 

"We  have  all  grown  older,  and  sadder,  and  wiser,  of 
course.  Why,  the  Sabreur  himself  has  got  almost  sober 
and  staid ;  and  as  for  Leo  Armitage,  it  was  only  the  other 
day  I  heard  he  was  going  to  marry  an  alderman's  daugh- 
ter with  a  fathomless  cassette.  On  s'arrangera  !  That's 
all." 

"Don't  you  think  it's  possible  to  grow  sadder  without 
growing  wiser?"  Blanche  asked. 

Lady  Laura  did  not  seem  inclined  to  discuss  metaphy- 
sics; for,  instead  of  answering,  she  dropped  her  hand  to 
her  ponies,  which  were  beginning  to  fidget,  and  followed 
in  the  wake  of  the  crowd  toward  the  cover,  into  which 
the  hounds  had  just  been  thrown. 

It  was  a  coffee-house  sort  of  a  day,  with  a  bad  scent 
and  short-running  foxes,  but  excellently  well  suited  for 
hunting  on  wheels.  Before  lunch-time  Mrs.  Ramsay 
looked  so  tired  and  pale  that  La  Reine  turned  back  and 
made  the  best  of  her  way  home.  That  same  afternoon — 
almost  for  the  first  time  in  her  life — Blanche  had  some- 
thing unpleasantly  like  a  fainting-fit.  She  rallied,  how- 
ever, quickly,  and  made  light  of  it  to  Mark  when  he 
came  to  inquire  after  her  on  his  return  :  indeed,  through- 
out the  evening  she  seemed  in  rather  better  spirits  than 
usual 

One   way  or  another,  the   fortnight  passed  only  too 


284  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

quickly ;  but,  when  it  was  over,  Blanche  would  not  hear 
of  prolonging  their  visit.  She  knew  that  her  choice  lay 
betwixt  the  company  of  her  husband  and  letting  him  re- 
turn to  town  alone,  and  did  not  hesitate.  And  so  began 
again  for  her  the  same  wearing  round  of  restless  nights 
and  unquiet  days. 

"  I  never,"  said  a  sage  matron  in  my  hearing  awhile 
ago,  when  the  griefs  of  a  mutual  acquaintance  were  being 
discussed — "  I  never  pity  any  one  who  is  thoroughly  in- 
consistent." If  you  indorse  this  opinion — which,  by-the- 
by,  I  did  not  venture  at  the  time  to  controvert — you  will 
henceforth  have  little  compassion  to  spare  for  Blanche 
Ramsay  in  her  troubles. 

She  bad  spoken,  you  may  remember,  with  tolerable 
plainness  concerning  Alice  Irving,  and — making  every 
allowance  for  female  mutability — it  was  scarce  to  be  ex- 
pected that,  within  a  month,  she  would  entreat  that  young 
person  to  sojourn  as  a  guest  beneath  her  roof,  tinder 
ordinary  circumstances,  the  invitation  would  have  been 
the  most  natural  conceivable. 

Captain  Irving  was  one  of  those  inscrutable  people 
who,  having  little  or  no  ostensible  business  to  occupy 
them,  are  constantly  being  summoned  away  on  urgent 
private  affairs.  Early  in  the  spring  it  appeared  that  his 
presence  was  needed  at  Paris — "for  a  week  or  ten  days," 
he  said,  vaguely;  but  it  was  evident  that  the  term  of 
absence  would  be  elastic.  While  it  lasted,  Alice  must 
either  keep  house  alone,  or  be  committed  to  the  guardian- 
ship of  the  aunt  Caroline  whom  she  disliked  so  cordially. 
That  disinterested  regard  for  the  young  lady's  comfort  or 
convenience  did  not  prompt  Mrs.  Ramsay's  strange  offer 
— it  was  perfectly  voluntary,  remember;  for  Mark  never 
hinted  at  such  an  idea — may  fairly  be  assumed.  The 
real  reason  lay  somewhat  deep  below  the  surface. 

The  instances  are  manifold,  both  in  new  and  old  times, 
of  those  who  have  been  so  goaded  and  worked  upon  by 
the  consciousness  of  being  menaced  by  a  vague  danger 
or  followed  by  an  unseen  foe,  that,  instead  of  seeking  any 
longer  to  escape,  they  have  turned  in  their  tracks  and 
gone  to  meet  the  mischief;  and  this  has  been  the  despera- 
tion of  cowardice,  moral  or  physical,  as  a  rule.  Perhaps 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  285 

you  have  read  that  rattling  ballad — one  of  Thornbury's, 
if  I  mistake  not — "  The  Cavalier's  Ride:" 

"  Tramp,  tramp,  came  on  the  heavy  roan, 

Pat,  pat,  the  mettled  gray; . 
Five  miles  of  down  to  Salisbury  town, 
And  just  an  hour  to  day." 

The  godless  gallant  had  the  heels  of  the  Roundheads, 
and  might  have  made  good  his  escape  without  striking  a 
blow  ;  but,  says  he, — 

" They  pressed  me  hard,  and  my  blood  grew  hot; 

So  I  made  me  ready  to  turn, 
Just  where  whitest  grew  the  May, 
Where  thickest  grew  the  fern." 

It  was  a  merry  bout,  be  sure — none  the  less  merry  that 
"chestnut  Kate"  carried  her  master  safe  and  sound  into 
Salisbury  after  all.  But  the  sport  is  not  quite  so  rare 
when  the  hunted  creature  comes  to  bay,  not  in  anger  or 
dare-devilry,  but  because  the  sharp  swift  agony  that  will 
end  all  seems  easier  to  endure  than  the  sickness  of  doubt 
and  fear. 

The  illustration  may  seem  strangely  inapplicable  to 
such  "genteel  comedy"  as  this  has  been  hitherto:  never- 
theless, the  parallel  does  not  altogether  fail.  That  there 
was  a  danger,  and  an  enemy  to  boot,  in  the  background, 
Blanche  was  right  well  aware.  She  had  never  yet  ques- 
tioned her  husband  as  to  where  a  single  hour  of  his  long 
absences  was  spent ;  but,  if  she  had  so  questioned  him, 
and  he  had  answered  truly,  perhaps  she  would  have  been 
brought  not  much  nearer  the  mark  than  she  was  brought 
by  her  own  fancy.  She  was  sufficiently  acquainted  with 
Captain  Irving's  habits  to  be  certain  that  during  the 
afternoon  Alice  might  almost  reckon  on  going  whither  she 
would,  or  receiving  whom  she  would;  but  in  that  "al- 
most" there  was  a  slight  safeguard — miserably  slight,  to 
be  sure ;  yet  the  idea  of  its  being  removed  was,  to  Blanche, 
simply  intolerable.  One  thing  must  be  clearly  borne  in 
mind  :  Mrs.  Ramsay  had  never  admitted  to  herself  the 
possibility  of  there  being  actual  guilt  in  her  husband's 
intimacy  with  Miss  Irving.  Though  she  had  lived  from 


286  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

her  girlhood  upward  in  an  atmosphere  of  coquetry,  and, 
more  or  less,  in  a  fast  set,  she  had  never  been  brought 
into  contact  with  anything  much  worse  than  folly ;  and 
her  suspicions  traveled  more  slowly  than  those  of  the 
average  of  prudes.  She  thought  that  Alice  was  daily 
and  hourly  stealing  from  her  larger  and  larger  portions 
of  Mark's  love,  or  of  the  sentiment — no  matter  what — 
which  she,  Blanche,  had  been  too  glad  to  accept  in  Love's 
stead.  This  was  all ;  and  it  was  more  than  enough  to 
make  her  hate  the  beautiful  marauder  with  all  the  bitter- 
ness of  which  her  nature  was  capable.  She  had  no  brain 
for  plotting  or  counterplotting ;  but,  with  a  certain  shrewd- 
ness of  reasoning,  she  told  herself  that,  as  her  guest,  Alice 
would  be  less  a  free  agent  than  under  her  own  father's 
roof  in  her  father's  absence.  Mark — however  little  he 
might  respect  his  moral  obligations — had  a  decided  re- 
gard for  his  social  ones,  and  was  likely  to  be  more  guarded 
in  his  demeanor  under  his  own  roof  than  under  any  other 
that  could  be  named.  It  is  not  likely  that  any  one  of 
these  reasons  will  exempt  our  unlucky  heroine  from  the 
charge  of  inconsistency  above  mentioned;  but  perhaps 
they  may  prevent  this  her-  act  and  deed  from  being  set 
down  to  mere  insane  vagary. 

The  surprise  that  Alice  could  not  conceal  when  the  in- 
vitation came  seemed  not  to  be  purely  pleasurable ;  indeed, 
she  pouted  her  lip  at  first,  as  if  the  horizon  thus  opened 
to  her  was  not  all  rose-color.  She  had  not  a  shadow 
of  excuse  for  declining  it;  Captain  Irving  would  not  have 
listened  for  one  moment  to  such  a  thing.  It  was  the  very 
arrangement  for  which  he  would  have  schemed  ;  and  he 
could  hardly  believe  in  such  good  luck  as  that  his  oppo- 
nent— for  in  this  light  he  had  begun  to  consider  Mrs. 
Ramsay  of  late — should  play  directly  into  his  hand.  It 
was  one  of  his  favorite  maxims  that  it  mattered  little 
what  a  husband  or  wife  did,  so  that  the  other  party  to 
the  marriage-contract  took  no  overt  exception  to  the  pro- 
ceedings. 

"  I  shall  go  to  Paris  now  with  a  quiet  conscience,"  he 
said  to  his  daughter,  as  if  he  and  his  conscience  hadn't 
come  to  terms  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago ;  and  she  an- 
swered,— 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  287 

"  Well,  there's  some  comfort  in  that,  at  all  events," 
with  equal  gravity. 

Those  two  were  so  used  to  their  masks  that,  even 
when  alone,  they  did  not  often  lay  them  aside. 

Mark  heard  of  the  arrangement  with  much  outward  in- 
difference. 

"It  was  very  benevolent  of  you,"  he  remarked  to  his 
wife.  "  I  suppose  you've  thought  better  of  what  you  said 
the  other  day.  You  needn't  take  her  out  more  than 
you  like,  you  know,  particularly  jf  it  tires  you." 

Blanche  was  really  glad  that  he  did  not  thank  her. 
She  felt  she  deserved  thanks  so  little,  that  she  could 
uardly  have  listened  to  them  without  a  disclaimer. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

A  WILD  spring  morning,  with  promise  of  worse  weather 
yet  in  the  keen,  sharp  wind-gusts  and  fierce  rain-swirls, — 
a  morning  utterly  abominable  to  those  who  are  forced,  on 
their  own  or  on  others'  business,  to  be  abroad,  yet  not 
without  its  merits  to  such  as  are  permitted 

"partem  solido  demere  de  die" 

at  their  own  fireside,  in  idleness  or  in  pretense  at  indus- 
try. So  thought  Yere  Alsager,  as — after  dallying  with 
a  late  breakfast,  and  skimming  two  or  three  papers — he 
lounged  in  the  same  chair  that  he  occupied  on  the  eve  of 
Blanche's  marriage,  watching  the  smoke  curl  from  his 
pipe  with  half-shut  eyes,  while  he  debated  whether  he 
was  equal  to  the  labor  of  putting  a  few  finishing  touches 
to  a  crayon-sketch,  to  be  matured  some  day  into  an  oil- 
painting,  if  the  Fates  pleased. 

A  ring  at  the  outer  bell  made  him  turn  his  head,  mur- 
muring, "A  dun,  I  suppose:  he  almost  deserves  to  be 
paid  for  venturing  out  such  weather;  but  his  pluck  is 


288  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

likely  to  be  its  own  reward,  I'm  afraid.  I  hope  he  won't 
give  me  the  trouble  of  explaining  so  much  to  him." 

However,  when  the  door  opened,  it  was  no  commer- 
cial face  that  appeared.  Vere  nodded  lazily  to  the  new- 
comer. 

"  Why,  Mark,  what  brings  you  out  so  early  ?  You 
haven't  become  a  man  of  business  all  of  a  sudden,  have 
you  ?  and  you  wouldn't  have  come  far  out  of  your  way 
simply  for  the  pleasure  of  my  valuable  society." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  the  other  answered,  as  he 
settled  himself  into  another  arm-chair.  "  You  are  as  good 
company  as  anybody  else  when  you  take  the  trouble  to 
talk ;  and  almost  any  company  in  such  infernal  weather 
is  better  than  one's  own,  I  suppose.  I  had  something  to 
say  to  you,  though,  when  I  came  out, — if  I  could  only 
remember  what  it  was." 

"Don't  hurry  yourself,"  the  other  said,  rather  dryly: 
"it  will  come,  I  dare  say." 

And  for  at  least  five  minutes  the  two  smoked  on  in 
silence. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  this  afternoon?"  Mark 
asked,  at  last. 

"Well,  I  hardly  know.  It's  as  likely  as  not  that  I 
sha'n't  stir  out  at  all  till  after  dark.  I  have  rather  a 
drawing  fit  on  me — at  least,  it  was  developing  itself  when 
you  rang.  It's  a  bad  light,  to  be  sure;  but  that  don't 
matter  so  much  for  crayon." 

Ramsay  bent  his  brows.  "  Not  going  out  till  dark  ? 
That's  unlucky." 

"  Why  unlucky  ?"  Vere  inquired.  "Do  you  want  me 
to  go  anywhere  particular  ?  Well,  the  symptoms  of  in- 
dustry are  not  very  pronounced.  I  dare  say  I  can 
manage  it." 

".I  didn't  want  you  to  go  anywhere  particular,"  the 
other  answered ;  "  but  I  wanted  you  to  be  anywhere  but 
here  for  about  a  couple  of  hours  this  afternoon.  I  prom- 
ised to  bring  some  one  to  look  at  the  carving,  and  the 
things  I  brought  from  Italy,  and  all  the  rest  of  it." 

Still  with  his  eyes  half  shut,  Alsager  smoked  on. 

"  Miss  Irving,  of  course,"  he  said,  after  a  moment  or 
two.  "Ah  !  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  she's  a  pretty  good  judge 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  289 

of  Italian  art ;  and  you  are  perfectly  well  qualified  to  play 
the  cicerone.  But  whether  I'm  exactly  fitted  for  the  part 
you  want  me  to  play,  is  another  question." 

Mark  appeared  to  think  the  first  suggestion  not  worth 
answering;  the  inference  was  too  self-evident;  but  to  the 
second  he  was  forced  to  reply. 

"  What  are  you  dreaming  about,  Vere  ?  I  never  asked 
you  to  play  any  part,  as  you  call  it.  1  promised  to  show 
Alice  my  old  quarters,  and  I  thought  it  would  be  pleas- 
anter  tete-A-tete  than  entiere.  I  couldn't  guess  you  would 
be  so  wedded  to  your  chimney-corner  on  this  particular 
day." 

Alsager's  eyes  were  opened  now,  and  he  faced  half 
round  on  the  speaker.  "They  are  your  quarters  still. 
Don't  suppose  I  dispute  for  a  moment  your  right  to  go  in 
and  out  and  dispose  of  them  as  you  please ;  but  as  for 

disposing  of  me Look  here,  Mark:  we'll  play  with 

cards  on  the  table.  I'll  go  out  this  afternoon ;  for  of 
course  I  have  no  more  right  to  keep  you  out  of  these 
rooms  than  to  take  up  your  library  at  Kenlis  Castle.  It's 
as  well  we  should  understand  each  other  for  the  future. 
It's  clear  you've  been  counting  on  me  to  help  you  in  this 
affair ;  and  last  year  you  would  not  have  been  far  out  in 
your  reckoning ;  but  I'm  not  so  sure  about  it  now.  You 
are  going  to  remind  me  of  what  passed  here  the  night 
before  you  were  married.  You  needn't.  I  remember  it 
all  perfectly  well — better  than  you  do,  perhaps.  When  I 
fancied  it  was  impossible  you'd  ever  want  these  chambers 
again,  you  said,  'Highly  improbable,  certainly;  but  as  for 
impossible,  it's  too  big  a  word  for  my  dictionary.'  It  was 
a  fair  warning,  I  don't  deny,  and  I  don't  pretend  to  be 
taken  by  surprise  now,  or  that  I  have  not  been  expecting 
this — something  like  this — for  weeks  past;  but  I  don't 
seem  to  care  about  it  a  bit  the  better  for  that." 

Ramsay  returned  the  steady  gaze  with  interest. 

"  You  have  scruples,  then.  I  confess  I  wasn't  prepared 
for  this." 

"  I  don't  suppose  you  were, "the  other  retorted,  coolly. 

"It's  not  a  question  of  scruples,  as  it  happens,  but  simply 

of  taste, — or  of  whim,  if  you  like.     I  dare  say  there  were 

few  pleasanter  persons  in  Troy  than  Pandarus.     Sorne- 

T  25 


290  BREAKING  A  BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

how,  though,  I  don't  think  I  should  have  appreciated  him 
unless  I  had  been  in  love  with  Cressida,  and  I  dare  say 
the  led-captain's  isn't  half  a  bad  business  when  you  get 
used  to  it :  I  wasn't  broken  in  young  enough,  you  see. 
You'll  have  to  look  out  for  some  one  else  to  be  your  house- 
steward  here,  Mark.  The  present  man  isn't  strong  enough 
for  the  place — that's  the  long  and  short  of  it ;  and  I'll 
clear  out  at  once,  without  a  month's  warning." 

Whatever  Ramsay  may  have  felt,  he  certainly  kept  his 
temper  admirably. 

"  There's  no  necessity  for  heroics,"  he  said,  "  or  for  un- 
savory comparisons,  either.  I  offered  you  these  quarters 
without  condition,  and  if  they'd  been  any  use  to  you  you 
were  just  as  welcome  up  to  this  moment  as  if  you  were 
ready  to  help  me  with  all  your  whole  heart  and  soul ;  and 
there's  no  need  for  you  to  clear  out  so  suddenly.  If  I 
want  these  chambers,  I'll  tell  you  so  without  the  slightest 
ceremony,  you  may  depend  upon  it.  We  needn't  make  a 
quarrel  of  it,  unless  by  your  particular  desire ;  but  I 
should  like  you  to  answer  me  one  thing — just  for  curi- 
osity's sake.  We'll  suppose  that  scruples  have  nothing 
to  do  with  your  squeamishness — you  quite  misunderstood 
the  help  I  wanted  of  you.  Never  mind  that;  but  I'm 
certain  you  are  thinking  of  somebody  else  besides  your- 
self in  all  this.  Who  is  it  ?" 

There  were  few  redeeming  points  in  the  character  of 
either  of  those  two.  Both  were  endowed  almost  equally 
with  a  certain  straightforwardness  of  speech  and  action 
— attributable,  probably,  to  constitutional  intrepidity — 
which  saved  them  from  descending  to  ordinary  shifts  and 
subterfuges.  Alsager  was  not  a  whit  disconcerted  by  the 
point-blank  question,  though  he  pondered  for  a  second  or 
two  before  he  made  answer. 

"You're  quite  right:  I  am  thinking  of  some  one  else 
— of  the  only  person,  perhaps,  that  is  really  worth  consid- 
eration. I  am  thinking  of  Mrs.  Ramsay." 

Neither  did  Mark  blench  before  the  riposte  that  would 
have  staggered  most  men ;  but  his  tone — albeit  still  not 
provocative — was  just  a  little  sneering. 

"You  do  Mrs.  Ramsay  infinite  honor.  I  dare  say,  if 
she  knew  who  was  her  champion,  she  would  be  almost 


B  LAX  CHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  291 

as  much  surprised  as — her  unworthy  husband.  May  I 
ask  you  one  more  question.  Since  when  have  you  felt 
this  vocation  to  succor  the  distressed  and  rescue  the  inno- 
cent?" 

Alsager's  lip,  too,  began  to  curl. 

"  If  you  mean  by  'the  innocent'  Alice  Irving, you  may 
make  your  mind  quite  easy  there.  I  assure  you  that  I 
don't  take  the  faintest  interest  in  her  welfare,  and  I  would 
not  lift  my  finger  to  warn  her.  If  you  want  to  know 
when  I  began  to  pity  your  wife — to  pity  her  so  much  that 
I  will  have  neither  art  nor  part  in  working  out  more  sor- 
row for  her — I'll  tell  you.  It  was  since  it  became  quite 
plain  to  me  that  she  was  dying  by  inches :  that's  about 
two  months  ago." 

A  curious  expression — or  rather  a  medley  of  expres- 
sions— possessed  Mark's  face.  There  was  surprise,  and 
a  certain  vexation,  like  that  of  a  man  suddenly  made 
aware  that  others  are  cognizant  of  a  secret  he  would 
rather  have  kept  to  himself;  but  Alsager  always  thought 
afterward  that  there  mingled  with  this  a  cruel,  eager 
satisfaction. 

"Dying!"  he  said,  almost  in  a  whisper.  "You  must 
be  dreaming.  Why,  I've  never  heard  her  complain  once; 
and  I  don't  believe  she's  even  seen  a  doctor  since  we 
came  to  town." 

"  She's  not'  of  the  complaining  sort,"  the  other  an- 
swered, with  his  low  laugh ;  "  and  I  doubt  if  all  the  drugs 
of  the  Pharmacy  would  do  her  much  good,  unless  they 
made  her  sleep;  but  I  believe  that  others  have  seen  it 
besides  me,  and  that  she  knows  it  herself.  See,  now, 
Mark;  I'm  not  given  to  whining,  and  it  sounds  too  absurd 

for  me  to  be  preaching  to  you ;  but  I  do  think  its  d d 

hard  on  her  that  she  should  not  have  had  one  year's 
grace  before  she  was  knocked  out  of  time.  You  wanted 
an  ornament  for  your  table:  that  was  all  right  enough ; 
but  why  on  earth  could  not  you  have  picked  out  one  that 
would  stand  careless  handling  and  wouldn't  break  when 
you  tossed  it  aside?  Poor  little  woman  !  It  seems  only 
yesterday  that  we  were  out  driving  on  the  hill,  and  she 
asked  me  if  I  thought  she  made  you  thoroughly  happy ; 
and  by  way  of  answer  I  told  her  what  you  had  said  about 


292  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

Polycratcs'  ring.  It  wasn't  a  lie  then — at  least,  I  sup- 
pose it  was  not." 

"And  why  should  it  be  a  lie  now?"  the  other  said, 
doggedly.  "  You  don't  suppose  I  wish  the  poor  little 
woman — as  you  call  her — any  harm?  No!  It's  not 
come  to  that  yet ;  though  it's  quite  clear  that  I  made  a 
mistake,  and  took  my  leap  in  the  dark  just  six  mouths 
too  soon.  We're  playing  cards  on. the  table,  to  be  sure; 
but  you  would  read  my  hand  if  I  didn't  show  it.  I  don't 
mind  confessing  that  I'm  fairly  bewitched — bewitched  as 
I've  never  been  since  I  was  twenty.  Alice  is  not  the 
least  like  any  woman  I  have  ever  met.  She  seems  per- 
fectly reckless  at  times,  and  yet  I  don't  believe  that  any 
man  living  would  tempt  her  to  go  an  inch  over  the  line 
she  has  drawn.  Perhaps  that's  why  she  can  make  me 
do  pretty  well  as  she  likes  already.  I  don't  know  what 
will  come  of  it  " 

"Your  being  in  a  hurry  was  not  the  only  mistake," 
Alsager  observed.  "According  to  your  own  account,  you 
thought  of  marriage  in  the  first  instance  as  a  political 
necessity.  You  had  much  better  have  kept  it  on  that 
footing.  When  private  feelings  are  mixed  up  with  rea- 
sons of  state,  there's  certain  to  be  a  complication.  Why 
the  devil  did  you  take  so  much  trouble  to  win  your  wife's 
heart?  That  you  did  take  the  trouble,  is  quite  clear; 
for  she's  not  one  of  the  gushing  creatures  that  would 
give  theirs  to  the  first  comer.  If  you  had  taken  things 
coolly  from  the  first,  I  dare  say  she'd  have  accepted 
mutual  freedom  quite  pleasantly:  it's  impossible  now. 
You  don't  know  what  will  come  of  it ;  neither  do  I.  I 
believe  it's  a  presentiment,  as  much  as  anything  else,  that 
makes  me  so  loath  to  meddle  with  the  whole  business.  Do 
you  remember,  when  we  first  talked  about  her,  my  won- 
dering whether  that  girl  had  ever  been  the  heroine  of  a 
sensation  story?  She  will  be  yet;  and  of  a  bitter,  bad 
one,  too." 

On  a  certain  summer  afternoon,  long  ago, — it  was  in 
old  Oxford  days, — I  was  riding,  with  two  others,  along 
the  skirts  of  Wychwood  Forest — not  dis-forested  then — 
and  we  came  suddenly  on  a  gypsy  encampment.  The 
Zingara  who  accosted  us  in  passing  was  no  withered 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  293 

beldame,  but  a  "  Nut-brown  Maid" — a  noted  beauty,  as 
we  afterward  heard,  among  the  Romany  Rye.  None  of 
us  had  the  heart  to  refuse  the  piece  of  crossing-silver, 
and  our  fortunes  were  told,  one  by  one.  Two  of  us  were 
prophesied  unto  in  terms  little  varying  from  the  usual 
trade  jargon,  and  promised  our  fair  ladies  and  warned 
against  our  "dark" rivals,  in  due  course:  it  is  unnecessary 
to  say  that  both  promise  and  warning  impressed  us  in- 
finitely at  the  time,  and  have  profited  us  materially  since. 
But  over  the  third  hand  the  Sibyl  pondered  much  more 
attentively.  It  may  be  that  her  seeming  reluctance  to 
speak  was  a  mere  trick  of  her  craft;  but  I  did  not  suspect 
this  at  the  time,  and  I  suspect  it  still  less  now.  She  must 
have  been  a  rare  natural  actress  if  the  wistful — almost 
pitiful — look  in  her  eyes  was  simulated;  and  her  voice  too 
seemed  to  have  lost  much  of  the  traditional  whine. 

"  My  pretty  gentleman," — he  was  a  very  pretty  gen- 
tleman in  those  days,  poor  fellow, — "you  mustn't  be  angry 
with  the  poor  gypsy  if  she  talks  as  the  Fates  bid  her; 
and  wiser  than  me  makes  mistakes  sometimes — though 
not  so  often  as  you  think.  You'll  have  your  heart's 
wish  often,  and  you'll  make  others'  hearts  ache,  for  sure: 
and,  for  all  you  are  free-handed,  you'll  never  want  for 
silver  or  for  gold.  But,  my  pretty  gentleman,  the  line  of 
life's  crossed  deep  and  early — just  for  all  the  world  like 
mine  is ;  and  them  that  have  that  cross  don't  often  wear 
gray  hairs  or  die  in  their  beds.  Yon  won't  slight  the 
poor  gypsy's  warning  because  she  can't  speak  to  the 
place  nor  the  hour.  You  have  a  bold  spirit  of  your  own, 
a  strong  hand,  and  a  sharp  eye ;  but,  for  all  that,  don't  ye 
ride  too  far  nor  too  fast." 

She  fell  back,  and  let  us  pass,  without  another  word  ; 
and  I,  looking  into  Nigel  Ken  ward's  face,  saw  a  sick 
change  come  over  it — though  when  we  were  out  of  the 
gypsy's  hearing  he  laughed  out  loud. 

"I  got  my  money's  worth,  didn't  I  ?"  he  said,  in  his 
gay,  rollicking  way — "  and  a  little  more  than  I  bargained 
for.  Devilish  odd  things  are  coincidences.  She  could 
not  have  guessed  that  I've  dreamt,  at  least  twice  every 
year  since  I  can  remember,  that  I  had  broken  my  neck  in 
a  '  crumpler. '  If  her  words  come  true,  and  either  of  you 

25* 


294  BREAKING   A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

fellows  meet  her  afterward,  stand  her  a  sovereign  for  my 
sake — she  deserves  it  for  the  shot." 

Now,  this  man  was  absolutely  ignorant  of  the  meaning 
of  fear.  In  those  days  not  a  few  of  us  rode  with  more 
courage  than  judgment ;  but  his  dreams  did  not  prevent 
him  from  astonishing  the  rashest  of  us  at  times,  when  he 
was  getting  a  beaten  horse  over  a  stiff  country.  When 
his  countenance  changed,  as  I  have  described,  it  had  cer- 
tainly nothing  to  do  with  nerves;  but  rather  it  was  the 
natural  surprise  of  one  who  hears  a  feeling,  hitherto  con- 
fined to  his  own  breast,  suddenly  interpreted  aloud. 

The  gypsy's  prophecy  was  fulfilled  almost  to  the  letter 
— for  assuredly  more  hearts  than  one  were  set  aching 
when  five  years  later  we  read  in  the  Homeward  Mail  that 
Nigel  Kenward  had  been  picked  up  stone  dead  after  a 
terrible  fall  into  a  nullah. 

The  present  was  a  somewhat  parallel  case.  You  may 
remember  that,  insouciant  fatalist  as  he  was,  Mark  Ramsay 
had  long  been  haunted  by  an  impression  that  retributive 
justice  would  one  day,  in  some  shape  or  other,  overtake 
him.  This  had  never  diverted  him  a  hair's-breadth  from 
any  one  of  his  purposes;  nor  was  it  likely  to  do  so  now. 
Nevertheless,  he  scarcely  repressed  a  start  when  Alsager's 
random  words  set  the  chords  of  that  somber  fancy  vibrat- 
ing. He  answered  in  a  very  grave,  gentle  voice,  without. 
a  symptom  of  resentment  at  the  other's  plain  speaking. 

"  It's  more  than  likely  you're  right;  but  it's  too  late  to 
draw  back  now — and  I  wouldn't  if  I  could.  We  must 
'dree  our  weird,' as  the  auld  wives  say;  but  I  don't 
wonder  at  your  wishing  to  stand  aloof,  or  blame  you 
either;  and  I  don't  bear  malice  for  what  you've  said 
to-day.  You  needn't  trouble  yourself  to  go  out  this  after- 
noon, Vere.  On  s'arrangera.  Good-by  for  the  present : 
you  can  meet  Mrs.  Ramsay  with  a  clear  conscience,  at  all 
events." 

"A  clear  conscience,"  Alsager  mused,  rather  discon- 
tentedly, when  he  was  alone.  "I  wasn't  aware  that  I 
had  a  conscience  till  quite  lately ;  and  I  don't  know  that 
I'm  particularly  enchanted  by  the  discovery.  I  wonder 
if  the  weather  has  anything  to  do  with  these  sudden 
accesses  of  virtue  ?  I  suppose  I  shall  be  found  preaching 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLrE'S  ENDING.  295 

at  street-corners  next — or  lecturing  Young  Men's  Asso- 
ciations on  Continence.  There's  no  knowing  what  one 
may  come  to  in  his  old  age.  I've  probably  done  rather 
more  harm  than  good  this  morning  :  that's  a  satisfactory 
reflection.  Saint  Mark  behaved  better  than  I  expected, 
certainly ;  though  there  was  a  quiet  look  in  his  eyes  when 
I  talked  about  his  wife's  dying.  Dying?  So  she  is 
dying.  There's  not  a  doubt  about  it.  I'm  by  no  means 
sure  it  isn't  the  best  thing  that  can  happen  to  her.  On 
the  whole,  I  think,  I'd  better  look  out  for  fresh  quarters. 
It's  a  bore,  too,  for  these  suit  me  down  to  the  ground ; 
but  I  can't  stand  living  even  rent-free  on  sufferance,  or — 
what's  nearer  the  truth — on  false  pretenses." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

IT  is  spring  again — not  spring  only  by  the  calendar, 
but  spring  in  real  earnest,  with  a  broad  blue  in  the  sky, 
and  westerly  softness  in  the  wind.  There  is  shade  now 
under  the  trees  lining  the  Row;  and  the  shade  is  not 
unwelcome  for  an  hour  before,  and  after,  noon.  All  the 
world — according  to  the  Court  Newsman's  definition  of 
the  term — is  settled  in  town  for  the  season,  and  in  the 
long  catalogue  might  be  found  almost  every  name  that 
has  hitherto  figured  in  this  story. 

Major  Gauntlet  and  his  fellows  in  commission  were 
perfuncti  officio  at  last,  and  had  laid  before  the  War 
Office  the  grapes  gathered  in  Canaan.  On  the  very  night 
of  his  arrival  Oswald  found  himself — as  you  may  sup- 
pose— in  the  smoking-room  of  the  Bellona. 

In  the  pre-Stephensonian  era,  when  cosy  hostelries 
were  to  be  found  all  along  the  King's  Highway,  there 
lived  an  eccentric  noble  who  was  so  fond  of  sojourning 
in  such  places  that,  when  traveling  home  to  the  seat  of 
his  ancestors,  he  invariably  slept  at  an  inn  within  three 
leagues  of  his  own  park-gate.  "  They  are  always  glad 
to  see  me — there,"  he  used  to  say. 


296  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

Now,  without  taking  quite  such  a  melancholy  view  of 
things,  it  may  fairly  be  presumed  that  a  man  of  average 
popularity,  returning  after  a  prolonged  absence,  is  likely 
to  meet  with  quite  as  warm  a  welcome  at  his  club  as  he 
can  reckon  on  elsewhere.  Gauntlet's  popularity  was 
much  above  the  average.  He  was  rather  a  "  Don"  in 
some  respects,  it  is  true,  and  possessed  a  knack  of  utterly 
ignoring  the  opinion,  if  not  the  presence,  of  confident  sub- 
alterns— which  was  disconcerting,  to  say  the  least  of  it ; 
but  he  had  a  frank,  free  way  with  him  which  prevented 
even  the  repressed  person  from  taking  more  than  mo- 
mentary umbrage;  and,  if  he  did  not  carry  his  honors 
very  meekly,  his  self-assertion  never  trenched  upon  the 
swagger.  So  there  was  a  kind  of  stir  in  the  smoking- 
room  when  his  tawny  mustache  came  floating  through 
its  inner  doorway;  and  he  had  so  many  greetings  to 
answer  that  it  was  a  good  half-hour  before  he  got  into 
his  favorite  corner  with  a  quartette  of  familiars. 

"Well,  what's  the  last  news?"  Oswald  inquired,  as 
soon  as  they  were  thoroughly  settled.  "  Meriton,  sup- 
pose you  give  a  short  summary  for  the  benefit  of  the 
stranger." 

The  man  he  addressed  was  a  grizzled  old  staff-surgeon 
— slow,  but  untiring,  of  speech — who  was  always  a  safe 
draw  for  the  latest  intelligence. 

"  There's  nothing  to  epitomize,"  he  answered,  after  a 
little  consideration,  "or  next  to  nothing.  The  land  is 
barren,  or  else  it's  a  backward  season.  I  suppose  you've 
heard  that  Helvellyn  went  over  the  Liverpool — he's  been 
going  any  time  these  six  months — and  Carlyon's  wife 
has  bolted  with  a  Frenchman :  she's  been  going  any  time 
these  six  years.  I  don't  believe  there's  anything  else 
that  you  won't  have  read  in  Galignani;  but  everybody 
you  know  is  in  town :  so  you'll  be  well  posted  before 
long.  By-the-by,  I  saw  a  very  old  friend  of  yours  only 
yesterday — Mrs.  Ramsay." 

A  huge  puff  of  smoke  almost  hid  Oswald  Gauntlet's 
face,  as  he  replied, — 

"  You  saw  Mrs.  Ramsay  yesterday  ?  And  how  was  she 
looking?" 

"  Looking  devilish   ill,"   was  the  reply.      "  Gad !    I 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  297 

almost  doubt  if  you  would  recognize  her.  If  her  carriage 
had  been  on  the  move,  instead  of  in  a  lock,  and  if  I 
hadn't  remembered  the  horses,  I  think  I  should  have 
passed  her — and  I  wouldn't  have  done  that  on  any  ac- 
count; I've  known  her  since  she  was  a  child,  too ;  and 
what  a  pretty  child  she  was! — and  what  a  pretty  woman, 
too,  for  the  matter  of  that !  You'd  hardly  give  her  credit 
for  it  now." 

The  three  others  who  sat  listening  were  rough  and  ready 
soldiers,  not  endowed  with  any  special  tact  or  delicacy ;  but 
each  and  every  one  of  them  chose  to  look  anywhere  but  into 
Gauntlet's  face  just  then.  Yet  his  voice  was  quite  steady. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  this.  Do  you  think  she  is  as  ill 
as  she  looks?" 

"  Worse,"  Meriton  answered,  sententiously.  "  The 
voice  is  quite  as  much  a  symptom  as  the  pulse,  some- 
times. There  was  never  much  of  a  ring  in  hers  ;  but  I 
never  heard  it  weak  and  hollow  till  yesterday.  That's  a 
rank  bad  sign.  I'd  half  a  mind  to  ask  her  if  she'd  let  me 
call  and  look  after  her,  just  for  old  acquaintance'  sake.  I 
prescribed  for  her  when  she  was  a  baby ;  but  somehow 
I  boggled  the  words  out.  The  fact  was,  I  felt  sure  that 
neither  I  nor  all  the  doctors  in  London  would  do  her 
much  good.  It's  mind  more  than  body  that's  ailing; 
unless  I'm  much  mistaken.  That's  how  it  began,  at  all 
events ;  and  these  atrophies — we're  bound  to  call  it  by 
a  professional  name — beat  the  best  of  us." 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?" 

The  other  lowered  his  voice  a  little,  though  with  the 
buzz  of  talk  going  on  all  round  he  was  not  likely  to  be 
overheard. 

"Well,  I  only  speak  on  conjecture.  I  don't  think  that 
she  made  a  wise  choice  in  her  second  husband.  Nobody 
ever  supposed  she  was  in  love  with  poor  old  Ellerslie ; 
but  if  she  was  not  happy  it  wasn't  his  fault,  God  knows  ; 
and  I  believe  she  was  happy,  in  a  quiet  sort  of  way. 
Now,  if  all  tales  be  true — they're  only  vague  rumors,  as 
yet — she  does  love  this  one,  and  gets  very  little  thanks 
for  it." 

We  need  not  inquire  too  curiously  into  the  meaning  of 
the  two  short  syllables  that  were  scarcely  smothered  in 


298  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

Oswald  Gauntlet's  ponderous  mustache;  but  I  fear  they 
were  set  down  broad  and  black  by  a  certain  Recorder ; 
and  I  fear,  moreover,  that  each  of  the  four  listeners  said 
"  amen"  to  the  evil  litany. 

That  the  spirit  of  partisanship  should  have  shown  itself 
so  strongly  in  a  place  where,  if  conjugal  differences  were 
ever  discussed,  the  sympathy  would  generally  be  found 
on  the  marital  side,  will  not  appear  so  wonderful  when 
we  remember  that  Blanche's  surroundings,  almost  liter- 
ally from  her  cradle  up  to  very  lately,  had  been  more  or 
less  military.  Her  father  and  her  husband,  though  both 
martinets  in  matters  of  discipline,  were  well  liked  by 
their  comrades  and  subalterns ;  and  in  both  homes  her 
gentle  and  graceful  influence  had  been  appreciated — some- 
what too  thoroughly  appreciated,  occasionally — by  all 
those  who  came  to  eat  or  to  drink  or  to  flirt  there.  But, 
if  those  honest  fellows  carried  away  a  heart-ache,  they 
took  the  fault,  rightly  or  wrongly,  to  themselves,  and  bore 
no  malice  to  the  fair  cause  thereof  in  after-days.  Even 
Harry  Armar,  you  will  remember,  when  he  lay  a-dying, 
said,  "  God  bless  her."  Truly,  I  think  that  if  the  present 
question  had  come  on  for  judgment  before  a  jury,  packed 
at  random,  out  of  the  Bellona,  it  would  have  gone  some- 
what hard  with  Mark  Ramsay. 

"  Yes,  it's  a  hard  case,"  Meriton  went  on,  without  no- 
ticing the  savage  interjection ;  "  cruelly  hard,  if  it  is  as  I 
fear.  I  don't  know  much  about  these  things;  for  I 
haven't  got  tired  of  my  own  wife  yet,  and  it's  close  upon 
our  'silver  wedding.'  But  I  should  have  thought  that  a 
man  ever  so  blase  and  bad  might  have  lived  with  that 
nice  little  thing  for  just  one  year  without  wearying  of 
her — and  showing  it.  There — it  don't  bear  talking  of. 
Let's  change  the  subject." 

Gauntlet  seemed  to  be  of  the  same  opinion ;  for  he 
made  no  effort  to  prolong  the  topic,  and  the  chat  thence- 
forth became  general ;  but  when  Meriton,  who  kept  regu- 
lar hours,  rose  to  go,  Oswald  rose  also. 

"I'll  walk  with  you,"  he  said.  "You  are  in  my  line 
home,  and  I  feel  sleepy  after  my  long  journey."  When 
they  were  in  the  street,  Oswald  put  his  arm  into  his 
companion's  and  slackened  his  pace  into  a  saunter. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLTE'S  ENDING.  299 

"Meriton,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  was  not  quite  so 
steady  now, — "you  and  I  have  known  one  another  for 
a  good  number  of  years,  and  it  isn't  likely  I  should  flatter 
you  at  this  time  of  day ;  but  there  are  one  or  two  points 
— not  professional,  mind — on  which  I'd  rather  take  your 
opinion  than  that  of  any  lawyer  or  parson.  I  want  to  ask 
you  a  couple  of  questions  now.  The  first  is,  Have  any 
of  those  vague  reports  that  you  spoke  about  coupled  Mark 
Ramsay's  name  with  any  woman's  except  his  wife  ?" 

"It's  really  as  I  said,"  the  other  answered.  "There 
has  been  no  definite  scandal ;  but  they  are  very  intimate 
with  some  Irvings — country  neighbors,  I  believe.  Indeed, 
the  daughter  was  actually  staying  with  the  Ramsays  a  little 
while  ago,  if  she's  not  there  still;  and  that  same  daughter 
is  remarkably  handsome — quite  dangerously  so — there's 
no  doubt  about  it.  But  it's  hardly  charitable  to  jump  at 
conclusions." 

"  Charitable!"  the  other  retorted,  savagely.  "  We  needn't 
trouble  ourselves  about  charity  when  we're  discussing 
Mark  Ramsay.  Well,  you  have  answered  me  one 
question.  Now  answer  me  another.  Look  here,  doctor : 
you  know  pretty  well  how  it  has  been  with  Blanche  and 
me.  You  know,  or  ought  to  know,  that  I  would  have 
tried  to  make  her  my  wife  long  ago  if  I  hadn't  been 
next  door  to  a  beggar.  I  don't  like  to  be  a  pensioner, 
even  upon  her.  Whether  she  would  ever  have  said 
'yes'  is  another  matter  :  I  never  asked  her.  But  there's 
something  perhaps  you  don't  know.  I'm  not  a  saint, 
and  I'm  not  half  fit  to  die,  as  I  ought  to  be ;  but  if  I'd 
only  got  an  hour  to  live,  there's  not  a  word  that  I  ever 
spoke  to  her  I'd  wish  unsaid — that's  true,  before  God. 
But  I  don't  know  how  long  that  would  last  if  I  saw  her 
often — as  you  saw  her  yesterday.  And  so  I  rvm  come  to 
my  second  question.  Do  you  advise  me  to  go  and  call 
there,  or  not?" 

In  cases  of  conscience,  John  Meriton,  if  not  an  exceed- 
ing wise,  was  a  very  upright,  judge;  and,  whether  he  had 
to  decide  for  himself  or  for  others,  he  laid  down  the  law 
according  to  his  light,  without  fear  or  favor.  He  pondered 
awhile  now  before  he  answered;  and,  when  he  did  so,  it 
was  hesitatingly. 


300  BREAKIN&   A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

"  Yes ;  I  think  if  I  were  you  I  should  call.  She  needs 
all  the  strengthening  that  can  be  given  her,  poor  thing, 
and  perhaps  the  sight  of  a  kind,  honest  face  would  be  a 
better  cordial  than  any  I  could  prescribe ;  and  yours 
would  be  an  honest  one,  Gauntlet, — honest  to  the  end. 
I  am  inclined  to  trust  you  more  than  you  seem  to  trust 
yourself.  I  don't  say  that  there  won't  be  temptation, 
and  I  don't  say  that  many  men  we  call  devilish  good 
fellows  wouldn't  drop  to  it ;  but  I  do  say  that  if  I  thought 
you'd  ever  try  to  make  things  worse  there — and,  bad  as 
they  are,  they  might  be  worse — I'd  never  touch  your 
hand  again,  unless  it  were  to  feel  your  pulse  ;  and  then 
I'd  make  pretty  sure  first  that  you  Weren't  malingering." 

"Thanks." 

That  small  word  on  Oswald's  lips  meant  a  good  deal. 
Beyond  a  "good-night,"  they  exchanged  no  other. 

Les  pauvres  esprits  se  rencontrent  sometimes  as  well 
as  the  finer  ones.  There  could  not  possibly  be  any  collu- 
sion betwixt  the  two ;  and,  as  they  were  then  a  mile  apart, 
even  mesmeric  affinity  of  thought  could  have  nothing  to 
do  with  it.  Yet  you,  will  observe  that  Meriton's  anticipa- 
tions coincided  curiously  with  those  that  Blanche  had  in- 
dulged in  when  she  resolved  on  sending  her  note  to  the 
Bellona. 

The  next  morning  was  so  soft  and  sunny  that  Gauntlet 
thought  it  not  unlikely  he  would  find  Mrs.  Ramsay 
already  in  the  double  rank. of  sitters  lining  the  Row. 
Though  he  was  not  the  least  apprehensive  of  a  scene,  he 
would  somehow  have  preferred  that  their  first  meeting 
should  take  place  under  the  public  eye.  He  saw  scores 
of  fair  familiar  faces,  but  not  the  one  he  was  in  search 
of;  and  on  more  than  one  of  these  there  was  a  light  of 
welcome  in  which  many  men  would  have  been  tempted 
to  bask  for  awhile.  But  Oswald  was  in  an  ungrateful, 
not  to  say  ungracious,  mood  just  now,  and  few  of  his  ac- 
quaintance got  more  from  him  than  a  word  or  two  in 
passing.  As  he  was  leaving  the  Park,  after  a  couple  of 
turns  to  and  fro,  he  came,  upon  a  group  on  the  skirts  of 
the  crowd,  that,  if  he  had  felt  no  special  interest  in  either 
of  the  two  persons  composing  it,  would  probably  have 
attracted  his  notice.  Indeed,  the  face  and  figure  of  the 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING. 


317 


death  under  one's  eyes,  and  to  pretend,  too,  that  I  don't 
know  what's  wrong.  Won't  you  let  me  talk  to  you  about 
it,  at  all  events,  and  make  sure  that  I  can't  help  you  in 
any  possible  way  ?  How  I  do  wish  I  could!" 

Lady  Laura  had  nestled  down  on  a  low  footstool  close 
to  the  sofa  on  which  Mrs.  Ramsay  was  lying,  and,  as  in 
her  eagerness  she  pressed  the  other's  hand,  she  felt  it  grow 
cold  and  tremble.  Nevertheless,  Blanche's  face  lighted 

Queenie,  do 
,  when  you 
••confessed  to 
^ith,  '  I  told 
|bmise,  dear, 
|ian  Oswald 
|  warning — 
ierhaps  you 
Sian  I  vexed 


t  think  any 
Believe  your 
ane,  and  is 
so  awfully 
is  willfully, 
ilon't  mean 
afraid." 
&  eagerness 

I  wouldn't 
possibly  do 
in  than  you 
st-h  an  idea 


1:1, ut  a  super- 
•;.  • ;  *  T  was  as 
Seemed  in  no 
iOU  unfavor- 

f|else  ?"  she 
m  those  two. 


318  BREAKING   A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

Blanche  knew  perfectly  whom  "  any  one  else"  meant,  and 
her  own  face  actually  flushed  as  she  answered, — 

"  Oh,  Queenie,  that  would  be  worse  than  all.  I  never 
had  much  'proper  pride,'  as  they  call  it;  I  would  go 
down  on  my  knees  this  moment  to  win  from  Mark  one  of 
the  old  kind  looks  and  words ;  but  to  her — if  I  heard  that 
intercession  had  been  made  for  me  there,  I  should  die  at 
once  of  the  shame." 

Lady  Laura  bit  her  lip ;  it  was  not  so  much  the  rejec- 
tion of  her  good  offices  as  the  consciousness  of  her  own 
inefficiency  that  chafed  her. 

"  I  don't  think  I  should  have  exactly  'interceded.' 
There  are  so  many  ways  of  putting  things.  But  perhaps 
you're  right,  dear.  I'm  too  much  of  a  blunderer  to  be 
trusted.  Is  there  nothing — absolutely  nothing — I  can 
do  ?  It's  so  provoking  to  be  useless  and"  helpless." 

"You  can  do  a  great  deal,"  Blanche  said,  as  she  laid 
her  cheek  against  the  other's  shoulder.  "  You  can  come 
and  sit  with  me  when  you've  nothing  better  to  do.  I'm 
not  the  least  like  an  invalid ;  but,  somehow,  I've  got  so 
dreadfully  indolent  lately,  that  every  afternoon  when  I've 
been  out  for  about  an  hour  I  always  want  to  creep  back 
here,  and  if  I  rest  till  dinner-time  I  get  through  the  even- 
ing tolerably  well." 

"  Not  an  invalid  1"  the  other  interrupted,  impatiently. 
"  I  wonder  what  your  doctor  would  call  you  ?  I  suppose 
you've  gone  through  the  form  of  seeing  one  by  this 
time?" 

"Indeed  I  have,"  Blanche  replied,  with  her  faint 
smile.  "  Oswald  Gauntlet  made  such  a  point  of  it  the 
first  time  he  called,  and  he  behaved  so  wonderfully  well 
altogether,  that  I  couldn't  refuse  him.  And  a  very  nice 
— '  motherly  person,'  I  was  going  to  say — that  same  Dr. 
Skwilce  is.  He's  a  wonderful  reputation,  and  yet  I  don't 
exactly  believe  in  him ;  but  his  medicines  are  quite  deli- 
cious. He's  a  voice  like  an  elderly  turtle-dove:  you 
can't  think  how  soothing  it  is  to  hear  him  cooing  away 
close  to  your  ear.  I  always  feel  sleepy  after  he's  gone." 

"  Well,  but  what  does  he  say  is  the  matter  with  you  ?" 
Lady  Laura  persisted.  "  He  must  have  given  a  rational 
opinion  some  time  or  another." 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  319 

"It's  something  about  a  sluggish  action  of  the  heart," 
Blanche  said,  placidly.  "  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what 
that  means ;  I  should  have  thought  mine  went  fast 
enough  sometimes — not  always — to  satisfy  anybody." 

"And  what  does  he  tell  you  to  do,  or  not  to  do?" 

"  I'm  to  never  overtire  myself,  and  to  be  amused  as 
much  as  possible  without  being  excited,  and  to  eat  every- 
thing I  can  fancy.  Not  a  hard  regimen,  is  it?  And  then, 
he  says,  I  shall  very  soon  be  well.  Queenie,  dear," — here 
her  voice  sank,  but  did  not  tremble  in  the  least, — "  I  think 

the  doctor's  right:  I  believe  I  shall  be  well very 

soon." 

For  a  minute  or  two  after  that,  Laura  Brancepeth  saw 
all  things  through  a  mist — darkly.  She  did  not  trust 
herself  to  speak  of  these  things  further  that  day ;  and  it 
was  long  before  she  had  courage  to  broach  the  subject 
again. 

If  Major  Gauntlet  did  not  fulfill  his  threat  of  coming 
too  often,  and  never  overstayed  his  welcome,  it  was  not 
for  want  of  making  the  experiment.  As  yet  he  had  never 
encountered  Mark  Ramsay  in  his  own  house.  Twice  or 
thrice  they  met  casually  in  society;  and  on  one  of  these 
occasions  Mark  said  a  few  polite  words  about  the  cheer- 
ing effect  of  the  other's  visits  on  Blanche's  spirits. 

"  I  can  .always  tell  when  you  have  been  there,"  he 
concluded. 

It  did  not  seem  to  strike  him  that  he  himself  had  any 
business  "there,"  or  that  he  was  expected  to  do  any- 
thing toward  lightening  his  wife's  depression — though  he 
ignored  it  no  longer.  Oswald  felt  much  as  Laura  Brance- 
peth had  done  under  like  circumstances;  and,  as  man 
talking  to  man,  he  found  it  even  more  difficult  to  frame 
his  answer  fittingly.  It  seemed  almost  intolerable  to 
accept  the  cool,  careless  words  as  a  compliment  to  him- 
self from  the  author  of  all  the  mischief  that  had  been 
done  and  never  could  be  undone,  and  to  be  conscious  the 
while  that  the  speaker  was  deliberately  trampling  under 
foot  a  gift  that  to  the  other  seemed  priceless.  He  did 
contrive  to  mutter  some  meaningless  commonplaces; 
but  thenceforth  he  gave  Mark  no  chance  of  airing  his 
courtesy. 


320  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

Before  any  of  the  events  recorded  in  the  last  two 
chapters  occurred,  Alice  Irving  had  ceased  to  be  the 
Rainsays'  guest,  and  had  gone  back  to  keep  house  for 
her  father,  who  had  returned  somewhat  sooner  from 
Paris  than  he  was  expected.  During  her  visit  not  a 
word  worthy  the  recording  passed  between  her  and 
Blanche.  The  gentle  deference  to  her  hostess,  and  utter 
absence  of  self-assertion,  which  had  marked  the  girl's 
demeanor  in  the  later  days  at  Kenlis,  were  still  unaltered; 
and  her  bearing  toward  Mark — in  the  presence  of  a  third 
person,  at  least — was  quite  faultless.  Their  sayings  or 
doings  en  champ  clos  shall  have  no  place  in  this  story. 
A  few — even  if  they  have  not  made  nouvellettes  their 
chief  study — will  be  able  to  fill  up  the  blank  page ;  and 
to  others  let  it  remain  a  tabula  rasa.  Licit  and  lawful 
love-making,  perhaps,  is  not  often  brilliant  in  reality,  and 
not  many  would  have  patience  to  read  through  one 
chapter  thereof,  reported  verbatim:  yet  it  is  honest 
bread  at  all  events,  if  it  should  be  somewhat  stale  and 
flavorless ;  but  there  was  little  of  the  wholesome  leaven 
in  such  converse  as  was  likely  to  pass  betwixt  Blanche 
Ramsay's  husband  and  Alexander  Irving's  daughter. 

That  some  such  mutual  understanding  as  has  been 
hinted  at  above — not  the  less  definite,  perhaps,  because 
it  had  never  been  written  down  or  outspoken — subsisted 
between  them,  is  certain.  Doubtless  Alice  had  good 
grounds  for  reckoning  on  speedy  promotion  in  the  event 
of  a  death-vacancy. 

Now,  you  will  be  good  enough  to  remember  that  in 
one  of  our  opening  chapters  it  was  set  down  that  Ram- 
say was  as  far  removed  from  my  own  personal  idea  of 
a  hero  as  it  is  well  possible  to  conceive:  howsoever  aus- 
terely he  may  be  judged,  it  is  not  his  biographer  who 
will  plead  extenuating  circumstances  or  take  exception 
to  the  verdict.  Nevertheless,  I  should  like  you  to  real- 
ize that  it  is  a  man — perverted  and  depraved  as  you  will, 
but  still  a  man,  and  not  a  monster — that  is  here  described. 
It  may  seem  to  some  almost  preposterous  that  such  a 
compact  should  exist  at  all,  much  less  before  the  ink  in 
the  marriage-lines  of  one  of  the  parties  thereto  had  had 
time  to  fade.  But  as  to  the  fact — I  fear  one  would  not 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDIXG.  321 

have  to  search  far  through  modern  annals  to  find  its 
parallel ;  and,  if  witnesses  were  to  be  called  as  to  the 
mere  probability,  more  than  one  name  not  yet  erased 
from  visiting-lists  would  be  found  on  the  sub-poena.  As 
to  the  time — well,  there  are  other  ways  of  reckoning 
this  than  by  the  pendulum. 

There  is  a  weird  old  German  story  that  tells  how  a 
student  once  sold  himself  to  the  tempter  for  a  price,  in  the 
which  length  of  days  was  a  chief  item.  How  the  rest 
of  the  juggle  was  wrought  out  matters  not;  but  this 
part  of  the  bargain  the  fiend  evaded  by  causing  his  vic- 
tim every  now  and  then  to  fall  into  a  trance,  which  lasted 
for  years  instead  of  hours,  in  some  desert  place,  so  that 
the  dupe  reached  the  extremest  limit  of  man's  existence 
before  he  had  lived  half  its  span.- 

My  brother,  it  might  happen  to  you  or  to  me, — for  it 
has  happened  to  our  betters, — without  having  given  bond 
to  Sathanas,  on  awaking  from  a  lethargy  or  a  dream 
which  seemed  only  to  endure  a  few  seconds'  space,  to  find 
all  around  us  barren  and  lonely,  and  ourselves  wrinkled 
and  withered  and  gray. 

It  was  equally  certain  that  Irving  had  not  been  wrong 
in  the  confidence  that  he  reposed  in  his  daughter — if  the 
calculation,  cruel  and  base  at  the  best,  be  worthy  of  the 
name.  However  closely  Alice  may  have  walked  to  the 
verge  of  crime,  she  assuredly  had  not  hitherto  forfeited 
the  right  to  boast  that  she  could  take  very  good  care  of 
herself.  Mark  had  no  doubt  won  from  her  more  than 
any  honest  man  has  a  right  to  expect  from  a  woman  who 
cannot  bear  his  name;  but  he  was  still  more  than  half 
baffled  by  a  steady  resistance  such  as  he  had  seldom  or 
never  before  encountered.  In  this,  perhaps,  as  much  as 
in  anything  else,  lay  the  secret  of  his  being  so  bewitched 
as  he  had  avowed  himself  to  Alsager.  It  was  in  his  na- 
ture to  wait  forever,  rather  than  abandon  an  object  on 
which  he  had  earnestly  fixed  his  desire ;  but  the  struggle 
and  strife  told  on  him  outwardly,  and  had  you  perused 
his  face  narrowly  you  would  have  found  divers  lines  and 
hollows  that  were  not  there  last  autumn. 

Blanche's  bearing  toward  her  guest  was  perfect  too,  in 
its  way.  She  no  longer  affected  cordiality,  but  in  the 
V 


322  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

minutest  observances  of  all  courtesy  she  never  failed. 
The  state  of  her  health  was  quite  sufficient  excuse  for  her 
not  chaperoning  Alice  abroad,  even  if  the  latter  during 
her  father's  absence  had  not  declined  almost  all  invita- 
tions. Though  the  visit  had  been  suggested  by  Blanche 
herself,  Captain  Irving's  return  was  doubtless  a  relief; 
and  on  the  day  of  Alice's  departure  she  felt  as  if  a  pain- 
ful strain  had  been  relaxed,  and  quite  enjoyed  the  reac- 
tion. During  Miss  Irving's  stay  Anstruther  only  called 
once  at  the  Ramsays',  and  twice  excused  himself  from 
dining  there.  Upon  the  single  occasion  when  they  met, 
after  their  first  greeting,  he  scarcely  seemed  to  notice 
Alice's  presence ;  only  once,  just  before  he  rose  to  take 
leave,  Be  glanced  at  her  askance.  His  back  was  turned 
to  Mrs.  Ramsay,  and  Alice's  face  was  averted  for  a  mo- 
ment; else,  perchance,  one  or  both  might  have  been 
startled,  if  not  warned,  by  the  malevolent  meaning  of  his 
eyes. 

Anstruther  had  fallen  much  into  his  old  habits  again, 
and  now  not  a  morning  passed  without  his  spending  two 
hours  at  least  in  his  laboratory.  The  only  difference  was 
that  now,  as  a  rule,  he  preferred  to  work  alone,  whereas 
before  he  had  usually  been  assisted  by  his  servant,  Henry 
Trendall  by  name.  The  man  was  neat-handed  and  intel- 
ligent, and,  besides,  had  a  natural  fancy  for  chemistry — 
so  much  so  that  he  was  inclined  to  grumble  at  his  services 
being  now  so  often  dispensed  with.  Also,  Anstruther  had 
resumed  his  regular  attendance  at  the  Orion.  He  had 
tried  his  strength  at  picquet  against  Irving  several  times 
before  the  other  went  to  Paris,  and  successfully ;  though 
the  skill  was  so  nearly  balanced  that  there  was  no  ques- 
tion of  losing  on  either  side. 

When  Mrs.  Ramsay  was  left  alone  again,  Anstruther 
found  his  way  to  her  house  much  oftener,  though  his  visits 
were  still  scarcely  frequent  enough  for  intimacy,  and  their 
conversation  never  touched  upon  anything  more  interest- 
ing than  the  ordinary  topics  of  the  day.  He  was  not  a 
brilliant  talker,  certainly ;  but  there  was  a  dry  shrewdness 
about  his  remarks  that  not  seldom  made  Blanche  smile, 
and,  before  Gauntlet  appeared,  he  was  perhaps  about  the 
most  welcome  of  her  visitors.  Afterward  things  were 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING,  32^ 

altered.  Of  course  the  two  men  were  bound  to  meet 
before  long.  On  Oswald's  third  visit  he  found  the  chair 
by  Blanche's  sofa  already  occupied  by  Mr.  Anstruther. 
The  latter  did  not  take  his  leave  immediately;  .but  he 
moved  from  his  place  at  once,  as  though  aware  that  the 
new-comer  had  a  better  right  to  it,  and  he  was  unusually 
silent  during  the  remainder  of  his  stay.  More  than  once, 
when  he  thought  he  was  unobserved,  his  eyes  peered 
earnestly  from  under  their  shaggy  brows  into  the  martial 
face  over  against  him ;  but  there  was  no  malevolence  in 
them  now,  only  a  kind  of  wistful  curiosity.  And,  as  he 
so  gazed,  the  outlines  of  a  story  came  upon  him  clear  out 
of  the  shadow. 

"Ay!  you  love  her  dearly,"  he  thought  within  him- 
self, "  and  you  have  loved  her  for  half  your  life,  I  dare 
say ;  and  what  have  you  got  for  it  ?  A  few  summer  smiles, 
and  a  few  softer  speeches  than  the  other  fools ;  that's  all. 
And  she  likes  you  better  than  the  rest,  no  doubt ;  and  I 
would  give  a  year  or  two  of  life  to  be  in  your  place  now, 
though  while  she's  looking  up  into  your  face  she's  whis- 
pering in  her  heart,  '  If  it  was  only  Mark  who  was  sit- 
ting there !' 

"And  yet  you  would  not  grudge  her  a  drop  of  your 
heart's  blood — it's  a  brave  heart,  too.  You  didn't  get  that 
cross  for  nothing;  I've  heard  more  than  the  dispatches 
ever  told.  You'd  ride  with  a  laugh  on  your  lip  into  a  place 
that  to  us  poor  civilians  would  seem  like  the  mouth  of  hell ; 
but  I'd  do  more  for  her  than  you  would,  after  all.  I'd  do 
for  her  that  which,  if  it  were  mentioned  in  your  hearing, 
would  take  the  color  out  of  your  brown  cheek  and  make 
your  great  strong  pulse  stand  still.  I'll  do  it,  too ;  and 
then  we'll  see  which  of  us  stands  nearest  to  her,  you  or  I." 

These  somber  meditations  did  not  prevent  Mr.  An- 
struther from  expressing  with  more  than  his  customary 
courtesy  his  pleasure  at  having  been  made  acquainted 
with  Major  Gauntlet  He  did  not  seem  much  inclined  to 
profit  by  the  chance,  though,  for  it  was  many  a  day  before 
his  gaunt  figure  darkened  those  doors  again.  Blanche 
herself  remarked  upon  it  at  last. 

"I  do  believe  he's  jealous  of  you,"  she  remarked  to 
Oswald.  "  Some  people  are  so  exacting,  they  can't  bear 


324  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

to  share  even  their  friends  with  any  one.  I'm  half  sorry 
you  frightened  him  away;  he's  rather  amusing,  with  his 
old-fashioned  oddities." 

The  gunner  twirled  his  mustache  somewhat  super- 
ciliously, as  if  he  thought  the  subject  not  worth  deep 
discussion.  However,  putting  Laura  Brancepeth  aside, 
who  somehow  never  was  in  anybody's  way,  he  would 
have  supported  with  much  equanimity  the  absence  of  any 
person,  howsoever  agreeable,  that  was  likely  to  interfere 
with  the  tete-a-tete  upon  which  he  had  come  to  reckon 
almost  daily. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

CAPTAIN  IRVING'S  winter  campaign  in  town  stretched 
into  the  summer.  You  may  guess  that  it  was  both  pleas- 
ant and  profitable,  or  it  would  not  have  been  so  prolonged. 
He  had  a  good  deal  more  than  held  his  own  at  the  Orion. 
Besides  Blanchmayne,  who  took  his  punishment  like  a 
glutton,  and  one  other,  few  cared  to  measure  their  strength 
against  the  smooth,  smiling  champion  who  seemed  to  have 
chained  Fortune  to  his  chair.  The  second  exception  was 
George  Anstruther;  and  this  adversary,  after  awhile, 
Irving  became  not  over-eager  to  engage.  He  was  not 
precisely  afraid  either  of  the  other's  skill  or  luck,  albeit 
he  recognized  both,  and — being  superstitious,  like  all 
thorough-paced  gamblers — was  rather  troubled  by  a  pre- 
sentiment that  he  was  fighting  against  heavier  metal.  But 
this  was  not  all.  He  had  an  absolute  dislike  to  sitting 
opposite  the  cold  judicial  eyes  that  while  they  dwelt  on 
his  own  face  seemed  to  be  searching  for  something  of 
deeper  import  than  points  or  sequences.  Somehow  he 
felt  certain  that  this  man,  for  some  reason  utterly  inex- 
plicable, bore  him  a  grudge  ;  and  Alexander  Irving — who 
throughout  his  life  had  set  at  naught  enmities,  howsoever 
well  deserved — was  strangely  disquieted  by  this  fancied 
animosity.  From  one  cause  or  another,  he  never  played 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  301 

lady  would  have  attracted  attention,  if  not  admiration, 
anywhere,  and  her  dress,  in  a  quiet  style,  was  absolutely 
perfect.  Who  the  lady  was  you  may  easily  divine,  and 
also  who  was  her  cavalier.  Gauntlet's  glance  scarcely 
rested  on  the  pair  for  a  second ;  but  in  that  second  he 
amply  realized  the  dangerous  beauty  of  which  Meriton 
had  spoken.  There  was  nothing  empresse  in  Mark's  de- 
meanor as  he  leaning  against  the~rail  immediately  behind 
Miss  Irving's  chair,  dropping  a  careless  remark  occasion- 
ally ;  but  that  very  carelessness  would,  to  some  people, 
have  conveyed  an  idea  of  security;  and  so  Oswald 
Gauntlet  interpreted  it.  The  two  men  exchanged  nods, 
—they  were  but  very  slightly  acquainted, — and  rather  an 
odd  smile  flickered  on  Ramsay's  lip  as  he  bent  down  to 
whisper  something  to  Alice  which  made  her  look  up 
quickly.  Oswald  guessed  at  once  that  he  was  the  subject 
of  the  whisper,  and  partly,  too,  guessed  its  import.  As 
you  may  suppose,  his  feelings  toward  the  speaker  did  not 
grow  more  charitable. 

From  the  Park  to  the  square  where  the  Ramsays  were 
residing  was  but  a  stone's-throw ;  and  he  found  himself 
at  the  door  before  he  had  time  for  further  reflection. 

When  her  visitor  was  announced,  Blanche  rose  up  from 
the  couch  on  which  she  was  lying,  with  a  little,  startled 
cry.  As  she  stood  up  on  her  feet,  Oswald  fancied — it 
might  have  been  only  fancy,  of  course — that  he  saw  her 
totter;  but  there  could  be  no  question  whether  the  sur- 
prise was  an  agreeable  one  or  not;  for  there  was  a  flush 
of  pleasure  on  her  face,  such  as  had  not  been  seen  there 
for  many  a  day.  While  that  flush  lasted,  she  looked  so 
like  her  old  self  that  Gauntlet  was  half  inclined  to  laugh 
at  Meriton's  dismal  forebodings ;  but  when  it  vanished — 
and  it  did  so  vanish,  even  while  he  had  hold  of  her  hand 
— her  pallor  grew  even  more  remarkable :  just  as  the  snow 
never  looks  so  deathly  white  as  instantly  after  the  Alpen- 
gluth  has  faded. 

"  I  thought  you  were  never  coming  back,"  she  said,  as 
she  sank  down  wearily  on  the  couch  again.  "  When  did 
you  return  ?" 

"Only  last  night:  so  you  see  I  have  lost  no  time  in 
finding  you  out." 

26 


302  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

The  effort  that  it  cost  him  to  speak  those  few  words 
cheerfully,  none  but  those  who  have  put  the  like  force  on 
themselves  would  understand;  for  his  big  brave  heart 
waxed  faint  within  him,  as  he  looked  on  the  ruin  that 
the  last  few  months  had  made.  No  need  to  ask  how  it 
had  been  wrought:  he  knew  that  right  well. 

"  How  good  of  you  to  come  so  soon,  when  you  must 
have  so  many  things  to  do,  and  so  many  people  to  see ! 
And  to  come  unasked,  too — that's  best  of  all." 

"  Well,  perhaps  I  ought  to  have  waited  for  an  invita- 
tion," he  said,  with  a  poor  attempt  at  a  laugh;  "  but  were 
two  old  friends  to  stand  on  ceremony?  and  there's  no  one 
I  want  particularly  to  see — unless  it  is  at  the  War  Office. 
I  must  report  myself  this  afternoon.  Never  mind  my 
affairs,  though :  they  will  keep.  I  want  you  to  talk  about 
yourself.  I  am  afraid  you  have  not  been  well  lately, 
from  what  Meriton  told  me." 

"  The  dear  old  doctor !  Yes,  I  saw  him  yesterday,  and 
I  meant  to  have  asked  him  if  he  had  heard  anything  of 
you  lately;  but  he  went  off  in  such  a  hurry  that  I  hadn't 
time.  So  he  thought  that  I  was  looking  ill  ?  Well,  I 
can  hardly  tell  you  what  has  been  the  matter  with  me.  I 
never  was  very  strong,  you  know ;  but  I  seem  to  have 
gone  down  hill  very  fast  lately,  and  I  don't  feel  as  if  it 
was  in  me  to  climb  up  again." 

"  Don't  be  so  absurd.  You  have  no  business  with  such 
ideas  at  your  time  of  life.  Now,  I  dare  say  you  have  had 
no  advice  all  this  time  ?  It's  just  like  you :  you  never 
would  take  common  care  of  yourself." 

He  spoke  almost  angrily;  but  Blanche  was  not  de- 
ceived for  an  instant  as  to  the  feeling  masked  by  the 
roughness  of  speech. 

11  It  seems  like  old  times  when  you  begin  to  scold  me. 
No,  I  confess  I  have  seen  no  doctor.  I  felt  so  perfectly, 
sure  it  would  be  waste  of  time  and  trouble." 

The  very  echo  of  Meriton's  words !  No  wonder  if  they 
sounded  in  Gauntlet's  ears  like  the  strokes  of  a  funeral  bell. 

"  But  you  will  have  advice  now,— if  it's  only  because 
I  ask  you  so  very  earnestly." 

"  Don't  look  so  piteous  about  it,"  she  said,  with  a  faint 
smile.  "  You  haven't  asked  a  favor  from  me  for  such 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  303 

ages  that  I  am  bound  to  grant  you  this  one.  There,  I'll 
see  any  doctor  that  you  like  to  send  here,  and  I'll  promise 
to  do  as  he  bids  me.  Are  you  satisfied  now?" 

He  took  her  hand — it  lay  as  light  as  a  snowflake  in 
his  broad  brown  palm — and  pressed  it  by  way  of  answer. 

"Do  you  mean  to  give  any  account  of  yourself?" 
Blanche  asked,  when  the  silence  was  becoming  awkward. 
"  You  must  have  traveled  over  half  Europe,  judging  from 
the  time  you  have  been  away." 

"Over  most  of  it,  certainly;  but  there's  very  little  to 
tell.  You  would  not  care  for  a  lecture  on  fortification,  I 
suppose?  I  saw  three  or  four  reviews,  to  be  sure, — 
especially  at  Berlin  and  Vienna, — that  the  poor  old 
general  would  have  reveled  in,  and  that  I  think  would 
have  amused  you." 

"That  was  the  business  part;  but  I  want  to  hear 
about  the  amusements.  You  don't  mean  me  to  infer  that 
it  was  all  work  and  no  play?  Is  the  Viennese  waltzing 
as  wonderful  as  it  is  reported  ?  You  must  have  appre- 
ciated that,  at  all  events." 

"It  is  very  good,  but  nothing  miraculous,  so  far  as  I 
saw.  I  can't  speak  from  absolute  experience ;  for — you 
will  hardly  believe  me,  I  dare  say — I  haven't  had  one 
single  spin  of  any  sort  since  I  saw  you  last." 

"  I  can  hardly  believe  you, "Blanche  said,  with  a  gleam 
of  mischief  in  her  eyes.  "  Fancy  you  as  a  wall-flower  I 
Why,  in  the  old  times  you  used  to  think  nothing  of  going 
a  hundred  miles  to  a  ball." 

"Ah  !  but  it  was  in  the  old  times,  you  see  ;  that  makes 
all  the  difference.  One  must  draw  the  line  of  levity 
somewhere,  and  I  drew  mine  when  I  was  elected  to  the 
Emeritan.  I  believe  if  any  member  of  the  club  were  to 
be  found  indulging  in  a  round  dance  it  would  be  a  case 
for  the  committee  at  once." 

She  looked  at  him,  still  with  that  same  faint  smile ;  and 
once  again  she  read  him  thoroughly.  She  guessed  quite 
well  what  had  kept  his  arm  from  encircling  any  woman's 
waist  during  all  those  months,  and  why  it  was  just  possible 
that  Oswald  Gauntlet  never  would  breathe  partner  more. 
Long  as  she  had  known  and  well  as  she  had  liked  him,  she 
had  never  till  this  moment  rightly  realized  the  value  of 


304  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;     OR, 

the  heart  she  had  put  aside — for  what  ?  Even  now  there 
was  not  within  Blanche  Ramsay  a  spark  of  what  we — 
who  are  of  earth  earthy — call  Love.  Nevertheless,  if  she 
could  have  followed  the  first  promptings  of  her  own  heart, 
she  felt  half  inclined  just  then  to  lay  her  head  down  on 
the  brave,  broad  breast  and  sob  herself  to  sleep,  as  she 
had  done  when  she  was  a  small,  spoiled  child. 

Very  absurd,  was  it  not,  that  she  should  be  moved  by 
so  slight  a  sacrifice  ? 

"Life  is  real,  life  is  earnest," 

as  the  poet  very  properly  sings ;  and  thoughts  ought  not 
to  be  wasted  on  treading  of  measures  or  twangling  of 
viols.  But  we  are  as  God  made  us  and  as  the  world  has 
left  us,  after  all, — not  a  whit  better  or  wiser  or  stronger ; 
and,  with  many  of  us,  even  such  trifles  as  these  go  far  to 
complete  the  sum  of  weal  or  woe. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  remark  that  Mrs.  Ramsay  did  not 
commit  herself  so  ridiculously.  On  the  contrary,  she 
was  sensible  enough  to  turn  the  conversation  immediately 
to  less  dangerous  ground, — such  as  the  well  or  ill  faring 
of  their  mutual  friends,  etc.,  reserving,  as  she  said,  the 
right  of  questioning  Oswald  hereafter  as  to  his  sayings 
and  doings  abroad.  And  so  the  dreaded  interview  passed 
off  very  much  as  Blanche  had  sketched  it  out  in  her  men- 
tal programme,  without  a  single  embarrassing  allusion  to 
her  past  or  present  domestic  relations, — for  Mark's  name 
was  never  mentioned  from  first  to  last ;  but  when  Gaunt- 
let rose  to  depart,  she  as  nearly  as  possible  spoiled  all  by 
breaking  down. 

"  You'll  come  again  soon — very  soon — won't  you  ?"she 
said,  holding  his  hand  fast.  "  I  am  so  lonely." 

A  whole  chapter  of  lamentations  and  complaints  would 
not  have  been  so  piteously  eloquent  as  that  one  sentence. 
It  was,  indeed,  in  terrible  earnest — "the  cry  of  the  help- 
less and  needy  in  their  distress." 

"I'll  come  as  often  as  you  like,"  Oswald  said,  once 
more  forcing  himself  to  speak  cheerily, — it  was  a  harder 
effort  than  ever  now, — "oftenerthan  you  like,  perhaps. 
Now,  good-by  for  the  present.  Remember  your  promise 
about  the  doctor:  it'll  be  claimed  to-morrow." 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  305 

The  pent-up  tears  flowed  apace  when  Blanche  was  left 
alone;  nevertheless,  she  felt  glad  and  grateful  beyond 
words  at  Oswald  Gauntlet's  return.  As  for  him — this  is 
what  he  muttered  through  his  teeth  as  he  strode  away, 
scarcely  knowing  whither  he  went : — 

"  Dying!  and  dying  like  that  ?  And  they  want  us  to 
believe  in  Justice  and  Mercy  ?" 

Better  Christians  perhaps  than  the  poor  horse-gunner 
have  sinned  almost  as  heavily  in  thought  when  such  a 
trial  vexed  them  sore.  It  is  so  much  easier  to  recognize 
that  we  ourselves  are  punished  according  to  our  deserts, 
than  that  the  penance  of  those  we  love  very  dearly  is 
merited.  The  maxim,  "  Whatever  is,  is  right,"  dates 
from  old  times.  It  ought  to  guide  us  in  rough  paths  no 
less  than  in  smooth  ;  and  others  besides  complaisant  sine- 
curists  are  bound  to  respect  it. 

It  might  have  seemed  to  many  that  Blanche  Ramsay 
was  now  only  expiating  the  wrong-doing  and  misdemean- 
ors of  Blanche  Ellerslie ;  but,  if  all  the  jurists  that  ever 
expounded  points  of  law,  and  all  the  divines  that  ever 
taught  submission,  had  pleaded  and  preached  to  this  effect 
till  they  were  hoarse,  and  even  if  Oswald  Gauntlet  had 
had  patience  to  listen  to  the  end,  he  would  still  have 
reared  his  rebellious  head,  and  answered, — 

"A  lie." 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 


AMONG  the  many  mansions  that  woke  up  to  life  with 
the  spring,  Nithsdale  House,  of  course,  was  numbered. 
The  countess  was  there,  and,  if  we  may  be  allowed  the 
expression,  "all  there."  Indeed,  before  the  marigolds 
were  in  bud,  the  choir  of  her  adherents  had  begun  to 
chant  in  their  hearts,  if  not  with  their  lips, — 


"With  everything  that  pretty  bin, 
Our  lady  sweet,  arise." 

26* 


306  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

And  she  answered  blithesomely  to  the  call.  Country 
air  and  gentle  exercise  had  refreshed  her  wonderfully,  and 
she  came  up,  as  her  racing  friends  would  have  expressed 
it,  in  blooming  condition  for  the  season's  work.  Earl 
Hugh  had  left  his  home-farm  and  young  plantations  with 
less  reluctance  than  heretofore.  He  grew  fonder  of  his 
dear  little  wife  every  day ;  and,  though  he  could  not  enter 
actually  into  her  favorite  amusements,  it  was  such  a  real 
pleasure  to  him  to  realize  that  she  was  enjoying  herself, 
that  he  began  to  think  London  not  such  a  wearisome 
place  after  all.  A  certain  carefulness,  not  to  say  smart- 
ness, was  observable  in  his  attire,  which  had  hitherto  been 
of  the  homeliest.  Indeed,  some  of  his  cronies  at  the 
Sanctorium  bantered  him  on  this  point ;  and  the  earl  did 
not  deny,  or  seem  to  dislike,  the  imputation. 

The  Daventrys,  too,  were  to  the  front  again,  though 
the  duties  of  hereditary  legislation  sat  very  lightly  on  the 
head  of  the  family.  He  was  generally  to  be  found  in  his 
place  about  the  time  of  the  great  spring  handicaps.  If 
the  winter  recess  had  done  much  for  Lady  Rose,  it  had 
certainly  done  more  for  her  sister.  The  slender  figure 
had  acquired  a  richer  roundness,  and  the  girlish  face  a 
more  decided  character,  without  losing  any  of  its  deli- 
cacy. The  startled,  anxious  look  that  might  have  been 
seen  there  often  enough  last  summer  was  never  seen  now 
in  the  Spanish  eyes.  Of  all  the  lights  that  shine  over  this 
earth  of  ours,  is  there  one  that  can  compare  with  the 
dawn  of  fair  womanhood  ?  In  this  light  Gwendoline 
Marston  just  now  lived  and  moved.  It  was  soon  beyond 
dispute  that  she  would  rank  high  among  the  beauties  of 
that  season ;  and  none  acknowledged  this  fact  more  than 
another  old  acquaintance  of  ours 

The  world  had  not  gone  particularly  well  with  Horace 
Kendall  since  the  cup  of  wealth,  not  to  say  of  happiness, 
was  dashed  from  his  grasp  so  rudely.  The  life  of  an 
absolutely  idle  man  with  small  means  and  with  few  per- 
sonal friends  is  not  often  enviable.  He  was  not  abso- 
lutely a  pauper,  it  is  true,  though  the  loss  of  the  small 
salary  drawn  from  the  Rescript  Office  made  a  material 
difference  to  his  income ;  for,  though  that  same  mysterious 
allowance  was  still  continued,  ho  had  had  a  hint — con- 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  307 

veyed  in  equally  mysterious  fashion — that  it  might  lapse 
at  any  time.  This,  added  to  a  flourishing  crop  of  small 
debts,  made  the  lookout  ahead  rather  gloomy.  But  it 
was  not  only  as  a  profitable  speculation  that  he  repented 
himself  of  having  lost  Nina  Marston.  Watching  her 
eagerly — and  he  never  lost  an  opportunity  of  so  watching 
her  as  she  walked  or  sat  in  the  glory  of  her  beauty — he 
was  filled  with  regret  and  longing,  which,  if  not  good  and 
generous,  were  at  least  sincere.  All  that  there  was  of 
manhood  in  this  man's  nature  was  waked  at  last,  and 
waked  for  his  punishment.  Very  often 

"His  own  thought  drove  him  like  a  goad." 

He  did  not  find  many  distractions  in  society,  either.  It 
might  have  been  part  of  his  self-tormenting  to  imagine 
this,  but  somehow  people  weren't  so  anxious  now  to 
invite  him  to  their  houses  as  before,  and  the  influx  of  in- 
vitation-cards was  not  positively  overwhelming.  With 
Lady  Longfield,  for  instance,  he  was  scarcely  on  speaking 
terms ;  to  be  sure,  he  had  treated  his  early  patroness  with 
such  insolent  neglect,  when  he  was  in  the  zenith  of  his 
prosperity,  that  it  was  no  wonder  she  was  offended.  In 
point  of  fact  it  was  not  so.  The  good  lady  was  incapable 
of  bearing  malice  against  any  one,  simply  because  she 
had  not  memory  enough  to  cherish  even  an  affront ;  but 
her  pretty  cage  would  only  hold  one  lion  at  a  time,  and 
it  was  fully  occupied  now  by  a  distinguished  foreigner 
who  had  come  over  from  Nordland,  with  a  head  of  hair 
like  Absalom's,  and  a  touch  on  the  harp  like  that  of  Ab- 
salom's sire.  She  had  forgotten  Kendall's  existence — 
that  was  all;  and  perhaps  society  had,  to  a  certain  ex- 
tent, followed  her  example.  When  a  person  with  no  sub- 
stantial claims  on  its  attention  once  loses  the  world's 
ear,  it  is  a  chance,  as  every  one  knows,  if  he  gets  listened 
to  again.  So,  by  day  and  by  night,  Horace  went  about 
discontentedly  to  each  and  every  place  where  there  was 
any  likelihood  of  his  meeting  his  lost  love;  and  when  he 
did  meet  her,  what  did  it  profit  him  ?  Whether  he  looked 
plaintive  or  savage  —  and  his  eyes  were  tolerably  ex- 
pressive, you  will  remember — he  was  always  answered 


308  BREAKING  A    BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

by  the  same  slight,  careless  salute  before  which  he  had 
winced  as  he  stood  side  by  side  with  his  betrothed  to 
receive  congratulations  on  his  triumph.  Twenty  times 
he  had  gone  forth  swearing  a  great  oath  that  he  would 
accost  her  and  know  the  worst  of  it,  and  each  time  he 
had  come  back  without  having  opened  his  lips,  cursing 
himself  as  fool  and  coward.  When  at  last  he  did  speak, 
it  was  without  premeditation,  and  it  happened  in  this 
wise. 

It  was  at  a  garden-party  at  Fulham — one  of  the  earliest 
of  the  season — and  the  hostess  had  invited  quite  as  many 
people  as  her  grounds  would  comfortably  hold.  Nina  was 
too  bewitching  that  day.  She  wore  the  peculiar  shade  of 
blue  which,  beyond  all  other  colors,  became  her.  She 
was  in  radiant  spirits,  too ;  and  every  now  and  then  you 
might  hear  her  silvery  laugh  trilling  from  among  the  little 
crowd  that  seemed  determined  to  beset  her.  Horace 
looked  and  listened  till  be  grew  almost  mad  ;  and  while 
the  fit  was  still  full  upon  him,  it  chanced  that  Nina  stood 
for  a  second  quite  alone :  a  waltz  was  just  over,  and  her 
partner  had  gone  to  fetch  her  something  from  the  beauffet 
close  by.  She  did  not  notice  Horace's  approach,  till  his 
voice  sounded  close  behind  her  shoulder. 

"  Good-morning,  Lady  Gwendoline ;  you  see  I  can't 
keep  silence  any  longer." 

She  did  not  start;  and,  though  the  laughing  light  had 
vanished  from  the  face  she  turned  upon  him,  there  was 
neither  anger  nor  scorn  there, — only  perfect  calm. 

"And  why  not  ?"  she  asked.  "  Have  you  anything  par- 
ticular to  say  ?" 

He  put  on  his  best  expression  of  tender  reproach.  It 
was  wonderful  on  what  small  encouragement  the  man 
would  grow  melodramatic.  If  he  had  been  on  his  death- 
bed, unless  distraught  with  terror,  I  believe  he  would  have 
tried  for  an  "  effect." 

"  How  can  you  ask  such  a  question  ?  Can't  you  guess 
what  I  would  say  ? — if  you  would  only  listen.  Is  pardon 
utterly  hopeless  ?  Ah  1  Have  you  forgotten  your  last 
letter  ?  I  read  it  over  daily." 

She  did  start  now  slightly ;  there  was  no  denying  it, 
and  her  color  changed  withal. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  309 

"  I  have  not  forgotten  it,"  she  said,  in  a  very  low, 
quiet  voice. 

There  was  no  time  for  more ;  for  just  then  Nina's  partner 
returned,  and  Kendall  fell  back.  He  had  tact  enough  to 
know  that,  if  he  had  gained  any  advantage,  now  was  not 
the  time  to  press  it. 

"  I've  made  her  answer  me,"  he  muttered  ;  "  that's  one 
point  scored;  and  I've  got  over  my  d d  shamefaced- 
ness;  that's  another."  He  went  home  better  pleased 
with  the  world  in  general  and  himself  in  particular  than 
he  had  felt  for  a  long  while  past. 

Howsoever  sanguine  may  have  been  the  expectation 
that  Horace  founded  on  this  incident,  he  certainly  was  not 
prepared  for  a  note  that  reached  him  by  post  the  very  next 
morning.  It  contained  one  sentence  only : — 

"  If  you  can  call  at  Nithsdale  House  this  afternoon, 
between  two  and  three,  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you." 

He  turned  the  note  over  and  over,  as  if  he  were  not 
sure  that  he  read  aright.  There  was  no  mistake  about 
the  handwriting — he  could  swear  to  that  anywhere.  Why, 
her  last  letter — it  was  an  odd  coincidence,  certainly — had 
reached  him  under  precisely  similar  circumstances  of  place 
and  hour.  He  fell  into  a  hurly-burly  of  thought  quite 
bewildering. 

What  could  be  the  meaning  of  this  sudden  relenting  ? 
Was  it  possible  that  the  cold  indifferent  demeanor  had 
only  been  a  mask,  while  the  willful  passionate  heart  was 
still  more  than  half  his  own,  and  that  Nina  had  only 
waited  for  a  chance  of  being  reconciled?  Very  possible, 
certainly.  He  would  have  preferred  seeing  a  little  more 
emotion  when  he  accosted  her  yesterday ;  but  then  she 
had  always  wonderful  self-command,  and  plenty  of  pride 
too.  Doubtless  even  now  much  special  pleading  would 
be  needed  to  banish  her  bouderie.  To  this  he  thought  he 
was  fully  equal :  if  he  could  get  her  alone  for  a  clear  half- 
hour,  he  had  no  fear  of  failing  here.  Of  course  she  meant 
to  see  him  alone ;  but  why  at  Nithsdale  House  ?  Per- 
haps it  was  the  safest — the  only  safe  place,  after  all : 
their  last  rendezvous  in  the  open  air  had  not  come  off  so 
successfully  as  to  tempt  her  to  risk  another  such.  Per- 
haps she  had  enlisted  her  sister  on  her  side:  there  was 


310  BREAKING   A    BUTTERFLY;     OR, 

no  t&lling.  Everybody  said  the  countess  was  a  paragon 
of  good  nature, — though  he  himself  could  never  quite  see 
it, — and  if  matters  were  once  put  straight  again  they 
would  run  more  smoothly  than  ever.  Finally  he  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  Horace  Kendall  was  a  very  fascinat- 
ing person  and  fully  deserved  all  the  luck  that  could  befall 
him — only  henceforth  he  must  throw  no  chance  away. 
He  spent  the  rest  of  the  morning  in  sketching  forth  the 
line  of  argument  that  he  meant  to  adopt,  and  he  had  got 
it  all  tolerably  well  cut-and-dried  when  he  started  to  keep 
the  appointment. 

Despite  all  this,  he  did  not  feel  quite  so  satisfied  as  he 
stood  under  the  portico  of  Nithsdale  House  ;  and  as  he 
mounted  the  great  staircase  his  confidence  oozed  out, 
much  after  the  fashion  of  Bob  Acre's  courage,  so  that 
he  came  into  Nina's  presence  in  rather  a  modest  and 
humble  frame  of  mind.  She  was  waiting  fpr  him — alone, 
as  he  had  expected — in  the  first  and  smallest  of  four  re- 
ception-rooms that  occupied  nearly  the  whole  of  that 
floor,  and  the  folding-doors  leading  into  the  next  apart- 
ment were  closed.  She  rose  as  he  entered,  saying, — 

"You  are  very  punctual.     I  am  glad  you  have  come." 

But  her  band  was  not  stretched  forth  to  welcome  him. 
It  only  pointed  to  a  chair  close  to  the  sofa  on  which  she 
had  been  sitting.  It  was  not  quite  the  greeting  he  had 
reckoned  on,  and  somehow  the  programme  did  not  look 
quite  so  easy  as  it  had  done  three  hours  ago.  As  he  sat 
down  he  began  to  speak  hastily — as  if  he  were  afraid 
that,  if  he  hesitated,  his  nerve  or  memory,  or  both,  might 
fail. 

"  Could  I  do  otherwise  than  come  ?  Cannot  you  fancy 
how  I  have  longed  for  this  interview,  and  how  I  have 
hoped,  almost  against  hope,  that  I  should  hear  you  say 
you  forgave  me?  I  was  in  utter  despair  last  year, — 
despair  of  ever  being  able  to  come  near  you  again, — and 
half  mad  with  anger  too.  You  would  not  wonder,  if  you 
had  heard  the  words  Lord  Daventry  said  to  me  that  morn- 
ing. If  it  had  not  been  for  this,  it  would  never  have 
happened.  You  must  know  that  my  heart  had  nothing 
to  say  to  that  unlucky  engagement." 

If  her  color  had  only  changed,  or  if  her  lip  had  trem- 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  311 

bled  ever  so  slightly,  or  if  her  eyes  had  flashed,  even  in 
anger  !  But  cheek  and  lip  and  eye  were  as  steady  as 
steel. 

"I  have  nothing  to  forgive/'  she  answered.  "There  is 
no  use  in  forgiving  dead  things,  I  have  always  heard ; 
and  our  past  is  dead  long  ago.  You  gave  me  a  sharp 
lesson,  and  it  has  not  been  lost  on  me :  that's  all.  If  it 
please  you  to  give  papa  the  credit  of  all  that  was  said  or 
done  after  that  morning — very  soon  after,  too — I  dare 
say  he  would  be  content  to  take  it.  I  don't  want  to  hear 
about  your  engagement :  I  was  sorry — yes,  really  sorry — 
for  your  sake,  and  still  more  for  hers,  that  it  ended  so 
terribly.  It  was  for  quite  another  reason  that  I  asked 
you  to  come  here  to-day." 

Was  this  quiet  self-possessed  woman  the  same  Nina 
Marston  who  used  to  flush  and  flutter  under  his  glance  and 
shrink  before  a  sharp  word  ?  Kendall  was  bewildered. 

"  Then  what  was  the  reason  ?" 

"  It  is  soon  told.  You  spoke  of  a  letter  of  mine  yester- 
day,— I  suppose  you  have  it  still ;  and  there  was  an  arm- 
let, too." 

As  his  golden  vision  vanished  faster  and  faster,  his 
face  began  to  lower 

"So  that's  your  game,  my  lady,"  he  said  to  himself; 
"  to  get  everything  back  that  could  compromise  you,  and 
then  to  drop  me  quietly  for  good  and  all.  Not  a  bad 
game,  either;  but  I'll  spoil  it  yet." 

Nevertheless,  he  answered,  in  his  silkiest  voice, — 

"Yes,  I  have  it  safe,  and  the  armlet- too,  and  every  line 
you  ever  wrote,  and  every  flower  you  ever  gave  me.  Is 
it  likely  I  should  ever  part  with  or  destroy  anything  that 
links  me  to  you  ?" 

"I  don't  know  about  it's  being  likely;  I  only  know 
that  I  sent  for  you  here  for  the  one  purpose  of  asking  you 
to  give  me  back — everything." 

His  eyes  grew  cunning  and  malignant,  and  his  tone 
almost  openly  defiant. 

"  I  will  not  part  with  a  scrap  of  paper  or  a  rose-leaf — 
to  say  nothing  of  the  armlet — while  I  live." 

She  did  not  seem  a  whit  vexed, or  surprised;  indeed, 
she  scarcely  repressed  an  evident  inclination  to  smile. 


312  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

"  You  can  keep  the  flowers,  if  you  have  a  fancy  for 
relics ;  it's  the  other  things  I  am  anxious  about — really 
anxious,  I  don't  mind  confessing  it,  or  I  should  not  have 
sought  this  interview;  but  I  never  quite  expected  that 
you  would  give  them  back — for  nothing.  I  know  exactly 
how  often  I  wrote  to  you,  and,  as  you  have  kept  every 
scrap,  there  should  be  no  difficulty  about  the  letters. 
They  can't  be  worth  much  to  you.  Now,  to  me  (with 
the  armlet,  of  course)  they  would  be  worth  just  £500. 
Will  you  sell  them  ?" 

Horace  Kendall,  as  you  know,  was  not  troubled  with 
many  of  the  finer  feelings  that  hamper  some  people  in 
their  pursuit  of  substantial  advantages  ;  but  he  sprang  up 
from  his  seat  now  with  his  cheeks  all  aflame,  as  if  a  buffet 
had  lighted  on  them  suddenly. 

"  Did  you  send  for  me  here  to  insult  me  ?"  he  stam- 
mered. "It  was  base-?— cruel — unwomanly!" 

She  smiled  outright  now. 

"  I  thought  we  had  quite  done  with  theatricals.  Pray 
don't  excite  yourself  unnecessarily.  It  is  only  a  question 
of  buying  and  selling.  There  is  no  insult  in  a  fair  pro- 
posal. If  you  won't  accept  my  terms,  I'm  sorry  for  it. 
I'm  afraid  I  can't  raise  them." 

If  wishes  could  wither  or  kill,  Gwendoline  Marston's 
tenure  of  life  and  beauty  would  have  been  slight  indeed 
just  then.  After  the  first  outbreak  of  passion,  Kendall 
had  cooled  down  almost  instantly ;  but  his  sneer  was 
almost  worse  to  look  upon  than  his  scowl. 

"You  are  magnificent  in  your  offers,  at  all  events.  It's 
rather  an  expensive  whim,  this  last  one  of  yours.  Since 
when  have  you  become  a  millionaire  ?" 

"Ah!  you  doubt  my  power  of  performing  what  I 
promised  ?  Well,  you  have  a  perfect  right  to  do  so,  and 
ought  to  be  satisfied." 

Before  he  was  aware  of  her  intent,  she  had  crossed  the 
room  with  her  swift,  springy  step,  and  opened  the  folding- 
doors,  beckoning  to  some  one  within.  The  some  one  was 
no  other  than  the  master  of  the  house  himself.  Now, 
Lord  Nithsdale  was  not  only  very  kind-hearted  and  easy- 
tempered  by  nature,  but  showed  it  in  all  his  bearing  to- 
ward his  fellow-men.  Even  on  the  bench  he  had  a  way 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  313 

— as  we  have  hinted  before — of  looking  at  criminals,  when 
it  was  not  a  case  of  personal  violence,  much  more  compas- 
sionately and  encouragingly  than  was  becoming  in  a  chair- 
man of  Quarter  Sessions.  Perhaps  not  twice  before  in  all 
his  life  had  such  an  expression  been  seen  on  his  honest, 
homely  face  as  it  wore  when  he  came  forward,  taking  no 
sort  of  notice  of  Horace's  nervous  salutation. 

"  Hugh,"  Lady  Gwendoline  said,  "  I  want  you  to  con- 
vince Mr.  Kendall  that  the  money  we  have  been  speaking 
of  will  be  forthcoming." 

The  earl  nodded  to  her  kindly;  but,  when  he  addressed 
himself  to  his  visitor,  John  of  Somerset  himself  could  not 
have  quarreled  with  the  affability  of  his  manner. 

"You  can  scarcely  suppose,"  he  said,  "that  this  inter- 
view would  have  been  allowed  to  take  place  here  unless 
Lady  Gwendoline  Marston  had  previously  consulted  me 
and  unless  I  had  approved  of  its  object.  I  decline  to  dis- 
cuss for  one  moment  the  circumstances  under  which  these 
letters  and  other  matters  came  into  your  hands.  It  is 
sufficient  to  assume  that  Lady  Gwendoline  desires  to  get 
possession  of  them, — of  everything, — and  that  she  is  pre- 
pared to  pay  a  fair  price  for  so  doing.  My  guarantee  will 
probably  be  sufficient;  besides,  I  have  my  check-book 
here.  It  is  for  you  to  say  whether  you  accede  to  our 
terms,  or  not.  They  will  not  be  altered;  but  you  can 
take  time  to  consider  them,  of  course." 

Horace  was  almost  choked  by  disappointment  and  rage ; 
but  his  very  passion  gave  him  strength,  that  he  might 
otherwise  have  lacked,  to  make  an  attempt  at  self- 
assertion. 

"  I  don't  want  an  instant  to  consider,"  he  said,  with 
great  heat.  "After  the  words  that  have  been  said  here, 
I  should  despise  myself  if  I  kept  one  thing  that  could 
remind  me  of  Lady  Gwendoline  Marston.  All  that  per- 
tains to  her  shall  be  returned  within  the  hour,  and  without 
a  bribe.  I  trust  that  you  will  both  some  day  repent  the 
insult — utterly  uncalled  for,  and  impossible  to  resent — 
that  you  have  thought  fit  to  put  upon  me." 

And  so  Horace  Kendall  made  his  exit  from  this  our 
stage — not  so  clumsily,  after  all,  if  he  did  not  precisely 
strut  off  with  an  air.  Let  us  hope  that  his  small  audience 

27 


3H  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

did  not  begrudge  him  his  little  "  effects."  Lord  Niths- 
dale  watched  him  depart,  with  a  queer  expression  of 
dislike  dashed  with  curiosity,  such  as  might  suit  an  en- 
tomologist who  has  just  lighted  on  a  rare  but  revolting 
specimen.  As  the  door  closed,  he  turned  to  Nina. 

"  That's  well  got  rid  of,  at  all  events.  We'll  send  the 
check  directly  we  get  your  packet,  of  course.  It  won't 
be  returned,  you'll  see." 

She  tried  to  smile  up  in  his  face,  and  to  murmur  a  few 
words  of  thanks ;  but  it  was  a  failure ;  and  then  Gwendo- 
line Marston  did  what,  under  the  circumstances,  was  per- 
haps the  last  thing  you  would  have  expected  of  her — she 
sat  down  and  began  to  cry  bitterly.  But  her  tears  were 
dry  long  before  the  packet  arrived  ;  though  it  came  punc- 
tually enough,  and  the  messenger  took  back  an  envelope 
containing  a  slip  of  that  plain  gray  paper  which,  on  cer- 
tain occasions,  is  apt,  more  than  the  most  perfect  picture, 
to  wake  the  "  Desire  of  the  Eye." 

Horace  Kendall  cursed  the  giver  freely,  as  he  crumpled 
it  in  his  hot  fingers  ;  but  he  took  special  care  not  to  tear 
or  destroy  it,  and  he  would  perhaps  have  been  infi- 
nitely disconcerted  if  the  envelope  had  contained  only  a 
less  practical  proof  that  he  had  been  right  in  trusting  to 
the  other  side's  liberality.  The  £500  in  figures  looked 
fair  and  round,  and  the  subsidy  would  help  materially  to 
clear  off  a  crop  of  ill  weeds  in  the  shape  of  debt.  Why 
should  he  trouble  himself  to  be  generous  to  utter  stran- 
gers, such  as  all  connected  with  the  Marston  name  must 
henceforth  be  to  him  ?  If  his  feelings  had  been  hurt, — 
cruelly  hurt, — there  was  the  more  reason  for  golden  salve. 

In  fine,  he  pocketed  the  check,  and  cashed  it  without 
delay. 

When  Gwendoline  Marston  that  night  in  her  prayers 
thanked  God  she  was  free — quite  free — she  had  as  ample 
cause  for  gratitude  as  ever  woman  had — be  she  maid,  wife, 
or  widow — since  Eve's  first  orison. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  315 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

IF  a  man,  overborne  by  any  grief  or  pain,  not  the  more 
endurable  because  no  outward  symptoms  can  be  discerned, 
should  go  forth  into  a  crowd  to  seek  for  solace,  the 
chances  are  that  he  will  return  in  a  more  discontented 
frame  of  mind  than  that  in  which  he  set  out,  simply  from 
realizing  the  fact  how  infinitely  little  his  own  sufferings 
affect  the  rest  of  the  world  at  its  work  or  play.  It  seems 
very  hard ;  and  it  seems  quite  as  much  so  to  those  who 
would  repel  rather  than  solicit  verbal  condolement  as  to 
the  tenderer  natures  who  are  not  too  proud  to  be  pitied 
or  petted.  Yet  there  is  little  reason  in  this,  as  in  most 
human  repinings.  We  might  just  as  well  expect  a  dark- 
ening on  the  face  of  nature,  when  our  own  mood  is  gloomy, 
as  on  the  face  of  society.  The  children  may  complain  to 
their  fellows  that  these  have  not  danced  to  their  piping 
nor  wept  to  their  mourning ;  but  we,  whose  beards  are 
grown,  if  not  grizzled,  if  we  have  learned  nothing  more, 
ought  at  least  to  have  learned  this  lesson, — that  it  is  not 
in  the  market-place  we  ought  to  look  for  sympathy  to 
lighten  the  burden  or  share  the  joyance  of  our  day.  Sup- 
pose that,  spent  with  hard  struggling  for  life,  we  stand 
on  a  sinking  ship:  why  should  it  disquiet  our  friends 
ashore,  who,  if  a  blast  shriller  than  common  should  roar 
round  the  gable,  will  only  mutter,  "  A  wild  night,"  and 
then  finish  their  wine  with  a  keener  zest ;  or  our  warier 
comrades,  who,  ere  this,  have  found  safe  anchorage  under 
the  lee  of  the  black  headland  we  shall  never  weather? 
Still  more,  how  can  it  concern  the  sea-folk  down  there 
yonder?  A  fiercer  storm  than  that  in  which  we  are  la- 
boring would  not  trouble  the  silence  and  rest 

"Where  there  is  neither  moon  nor  star, 
But  the  waves  make  music  above  them  afar — 
Low  thunder  and  light  in  the  magic  night." 


316  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

Nay,  if  all  tales  are  true,  nothing  that  once  was  flesh 
and  blood  sinks  far  below  the  central  deeps ;  and  there 
is  no  fear  that  the  inermaiden  at  her  play  should  be  fright- 
ened by  any  such  ugly  sight  as  the  corpse  of  a  drowned 
man. 

So  the  business  and  pleasure  of  this  season  went  on 
just  as  if  no  story  could  have  been  written  about  any  one 
in  particular  concerned  therein.  It  was  a  summer,  to  be 
sure,  somewhat  fruitful  of  misfortune.  There  was  terribly 
heavy  plunging,  east  as  well  as  west  of  Temple  Bar;  and 
certain  disasters  caused  the  most  careless  of  passers-by 
to  stop  for  a  second  to  listen  to  the  crash  and  watch  the 
ruin.  But  when  merchant-princes  met,  haggard  and  care- 
worn, in  conclave,  to  discuss  whether  for  the  general 
credit's  sake  it  were  not  better  to  avert  some  great 
house's  downfall  by  private  sacrifices, — not  only  of  money 
but  of  principle;  for  the  very  indulgence  verged  on  a 
compromise  of  crime, — the  layers  at  the  Corner  were  not 
less  busy,  nor  the  backers  less  bold.  And  when  the  heir 
to  a  great  name  and  fair  estate  was  found  with  a  bullet 
through  his  heart  after  the  St.  Maur  handicap  was  won 
by  a  "  dead  outsider,"  the  event  was  scarcely  mentioned 
on  'Change,  and  was  instantly  forgotten  in  the  hubbub  of 
the  announcement  that  Cacus  and  Co.  had  failed. 

Without  this  preamble,  you  would  probably  hav.e  in- 
ferred that  the  drama  in  which  the  Ramsays  bore  princi- 
pal parts  attracted  no  sort  of  public  attention;  neverthe- 
less, the  plot  thickened  daily,  simply  because  it  was  evident, 
to  any  who  cared  to  watch  it,  that  the  last  scene  must  be 
played  out  ere  long. 

The  Brancepeths  came  to  town  rather  later  than  usual ; 
but  within  an  hour  of  their  arrival  La  Heine  was  sitting 
with  Blanche.  The  change  in  her  friend's  appearance 
that  she  had  noticed  at  Christmas  struck  her  much  more 
forcibly  now, — so  forcibly  that  she  forgot  all  her  prudent 
doctrines  of  non-interference, — and  she  "  freed  her  soul" 
abruptly. 

"  It's  no  use,  Blanche ;  I  dare  say  I  shall  only  make 
matters  worse ;  but  I  can't  be  a  hypocrite  any  longer.  It 
is  being  a  hypocrite  to  keep  on  pretending  to  think  there's 
nothing  the  matter,  when  you  are  fretting  yourself  to 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  325 

quite  up  to  his  game  against  Anstruther;  and  this  in 
itself  chafed  him  sharply.  When  a  glimmer  of  the  truth 
crossed  his  mind,  it  was  unheeded.  Even  if  he  had  sus- 
pected that  Anstruther  once  admired,  or  even  loved, 
Blanche  Ramsay — and  he  had  long  since  admitted  the 
utter  improbability  of  the  hypothesis — he  would  never 
have  suspected  him  of  partisanship  now. 

"He  must  have  got  hold  of  one  of  those  cursed  stories, 
I  suppose,"  he  said  to  himself.  "That's  what  makes  him 
look  so  queer." 

Indeed,  there  were  stories  enough  and  to  spare  abroad, 
relating  to  Captain  Irving's  youth  and  manhood,  that 
might  have  accounted  for  people,  not  especially  scrupulous 
or  sensitive,  looking  on  him  rather  "queerly."  However, 
in  spite  of  occasional  hitches  and  checks,  the  sojourn  in 
town  turned  out  anything  but  an  extravagance ;  and 
others  besides  Mark  Ramsay  contributed  to  the  free  main- 
tenance throughout  the  winter  and  spring  of  father  and 
daughter.  So  satisfied  was  Irving  with  the  result  that 
he  thought  he  would  let  well  alone.  His  wary  eye  had 
detected  divers  indications,  lately,  of  a  turn  in  his  luck, 
and  he  resolved  to  be  beforehand  with  it. 

So  one  morning  at  breakfast,  without  any  previous  no- 
tice of  his  intention,  he  bade  Alice  be  ready  to  return  to 
Drumour  the  following  week.  She  received  the  announce- 
ment with  perfect  indifference  ;  and  when  her  father  asked 
her,  with  a  sort  of  lazy  curiosity,  "Are  you  glad  or  sorry 
to  go  ?"  it  seemed  as  if  she  were  speaking  truth  when 
she  answered,  "  Well,  I  hardly  know:  on  the  whole,  per- 
haps I  am  glad.  I'm  beginning  to  get  a  little  tired  of 
the  cohue,  and  of  seeing  the  same  faces  so  often.  Dru- 
mour will  be  quite  lovely  just  now." 

"  I  suppose  you  will  see  some  of  the  same  faces  again 
before  long,"  Irving  retorted,  with  a  slight  sneer.  "Mean- 
while, you  can  be  as  pastoral  as  you  please.  I  don't  know 
about  Drumour  being  lovely  ;  it  certainly  won't  be  lively; 
but  a  little  lethargy  will  do  neither  of  us  any  harm." 

If  Mark  Ramsay  was  chagrined  or  surprised  when  he 
heard  of  the  intended  departure,  he  dissembled  extremely 
well.  When  Blanche  was  told  of  it  by  Alice  herself — 
Miss  Irving's  conventional  calls  had  never  been  inter- 

28 


326  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

rupted — she  was  fain  to  turn  her  face  away,  lest  it  should 
betray  her.  She  would  scarcely  have  felt  so  exultant 
had  she  guessed  at  certain  arrangements  that  were  made 
that  same  day ;  nor  perhaps  would  Mark's  equanimity 
have  seemed  so  very  wonderful  to  any  one  cognizant 
thereof. 

The  respite,  while  it  lasted,  was  even  greater  than  that 
which  Blanche  had  enjoyed  at  Brancepeth  ;  but  it  lasted 
hardly  so  long.  The  Irvings  might  have  been  gone  some 
ten  days,  when  Mark  appeared  in  his  wife's  dressing-room 
one  morning  while  she  was  making  an  attempt  at  a  late 
breakfast.  He  looked  graver  than  usual,  and  frowned  as 
he  glanced  at  some  letters  that  he  held. 

"  How  have  you  slept,  Blanche  ?"  he  asked,  just  touch- 
ing her  brow  with  his  lips  before  he  sat  down  in  an  arm- 
chair on  the  opposite  side  of  the  table  to  her  couch.  "  You 
look  better  this  morning;" 

How  even  that  careless  caress  made  her  heart  flutter 
and  her  cheek  glow  1 

"  I  slept  better,  and  I  feel  almost  brilliant  this  morning. 
But  what  do  those  letters  mean,  Mark  ?  Nothing  trouble- 
some, I  hope?" 

"  Nothing  terrible  ;  but  decidedly  troublesome.  They 
seem  to  have  a  knack  of  getting  matters  into  a  tangle  at 
Kenlis ;  and  old  Menzies  has  no  head  to  unravel  them. 
We  shall  have  to  change  our  factor  soon,  I  think :  he's 
getting  past  his  work.  Indeed,  he  almost  confesses  as 
much.  It  was  a  sort  of  anarchy  in  Sir  Robert's  time, 
and  they  don't  relish  the  mildest  form  of  regular  govern- 
ment. It's  a  bore  to  be  hampered  with  business  when 
we  have  a  houseful ;  and  I  should  like  to  get  everything 
straight  before  the  shooting  begins.  Our  term  here  ex- 
pires on  the  last  of  July,  you  know ;  but  I  must  go  down 
much  sooner  than  that ;  indeed,  I  think  of  starting  by  the 
night-mail  to-morrow." 

The  soft  eyes  rested  on  him  more  steadily  than  search- 
ingly.  It  seemed  rather  as  if  she  were  beseeching  him 
not  to  deceive  her,  than  imputing  to  him  any  such  intent. 

"It  is  troublesome,"  she  said,  "and  so  very  sudden,  too. 
You  know  best  what  ought  to  be  done,  Mark,  of  course. 
I  could  not  start  quite  so  soon  as  that ;  but  there  is  no- 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  337 

thing  to  keep  me  in  town.  I  could  join  you  next  week — 
if  you  wished  it." 

There  was  a  piteous  significance  in  those  last  words; 
but  Mark  never  noticed  it.  He  was  only  too  content  to 
see  his  wife  take  things  so  quietly.  He  had  counted  on 
her  submission,  but  scarcely  on  such  a  placid  acqui- 
escence. 

"If  I  wished  it?"  he  answered,  quite  cordially.  "  Of 
course  I  wish  it.  The  sooner  you  can  come  the  better, 
Blanche.  Kenlis  is  much  too  large  and  eerie  a  place  to 
make  a  comfortable  hermitage  ;  and  I  fancy  the  change 
will  do  you  good.  t  You  certainly  want  bracing." 

Bracing?  Yes,  she  did  want  it,  cruelly;  but  it  was 
of  a  kind  that  never  came  on  the  wings  of  the  purest 
breeze  that  ever  rustled  through  heather.  Some  such 
fancy  crossed  Blanche's  mind ;  but,  under  the  gleam  of 
kindliness  in  Mark's  manner,  her  face  brightened. 

"  I  have  no  trouble  with  household  matters,  so  my 
preparations  will  be  soon  made,"  she  said.  "I  don't 
know  whether  the  change  will  do  me  good ;  but  I  shall 
like  it.  Town  isn't  lively  when  one  only  sees  one's  friends 
at  home.  By-the-by — talking  about  one's  friends — have 
you  settled  who  are  to  be  asked  to  Kenlis  in  August  ?" 

"No.  I  have  left  that  to  you,"  he  replied;  "at  least, 
nearly  so.  Alsager's  is  the  only  name  I'll  put  down  on 
my  own  account.  It's  no  use  counting  on  Vane.  He'll 
be  among  the  buffaloes  about  that  time,  from  what  I  can 
hear.  Now,  Blanche,  I  want  you  to  understand  that 
you'll  please  me  best  by  inviting  just  the  people  that 
please  you  best — neither  less  nor  more ;  and  there's  no 
reason  why  they  should  wait  for  August.  There's  very 
fair  sea-trout  fishing,  and  somehow  or  other  people  are 
always  amused  at  Kenlis;  or  seem  to  be, — which  comes 
to  much  the  same  thing.  Couldn't  you  persuade  some 
one  to  escort  you  down  ?  There's  Gauntlet,  for  instance. 
He  can  get  what  leave  he  likes  ;  if  he's  no  other  engage- 
ment, I  should  think  he  would  be  charmed." 

It  was  so  seldom  that  Mark,  of  late,  had  shown  any 
such  solicitude  for  his  wife's  comfort  that  the  novelty 
ought  to  have  gratified  if  it  did  not  surprise  her.  And 
yet  Blanche's  heightened  color  sprung  more  from  vexa- 


328  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

tion  than  any  other  cause.  She  could  not  help  asking 
herself  whether  it  was  likely  that,  had  the  positions  of 
the  two  men  been  reversed,  Oswald  would  have  dreamed 
of  consigning  her  to  the  other's  escort;  and,  further, 
whether  Mark  himself  would  have  been  inclined  so  trust- 
fully when  he  and  she  loitered  under  the  Fontainebleau 
oaks.  It  was  with  a  certain  constraint  she  answered, — 

"  I  don't  know  what  Major  Gauntlet's  engagements 
may  be.;  but  I  can  easily  ascertain,  and  ask  him  to  take 
care  of  me,  as  you  suggest.  I  dare  say  he  will  be  glad 
to  do  so :  he's  one  of  the  few  people  who  like  old  friends 
better  than  new  ones,  and  don't  mind  trouble.  I  should 
have  asked  you  to  find  room  for  him'at  Kenlis,  in  any 
case,  this  autumn.  I  should  like  the  Brancepeths  to 
come,  too,  as  soon  as  they  can  manage  it;  and,  Mark, 
you  don't  mind  my  inviting  Mr.  Anstruther?  He's 
really  been  very  good-natured,  in  calling  and  bringing 
me  books,  and  in  all  sorts  of  ways ;  and,  though  he  de- 
clined last  year,  I  think  he'll  accept  this.  He's  not  a 
favorite  of  yours,  I  know ;  but  he  won't  be  much  in  the 
way,  for  he  never  shoots,  and  keeps  very  early  hours." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  Mark  returned,  coolly.  "I  have 
no  sort  of  antipathy  to  Mr.  Anstruther:  indeed,  I  rather 
admire  him  than  otherwise.  Judging  from  the  little  I 
have  seen  of  him  at  the  Orion,  his  whist  and  picquet  are 
of  the  first  force:  besides,  it  will  be  great  sport  to  see 
him  and  Irving  pitted  against  each  other.  A  professor 
is  an  acquisition  anywhere.  Ask  him,  by  all  means." 

After  this  they  spoke  only  of  domestic  matters  of  no 
moment,  and  Mark  departed  well  satisfied  with  the  man- 
ner and  result  of  his  interview.  Blanche  did  not  see  him 
alone  again  till  the  following  evening,  when  he  dined 
early  at  home,  before  he  started  by  the  North  mail. 

Not  many  injured  wives,  probably,  would  have  let  such 
an  opportunity  slip  of  taking  a  delinquent  consort  to  task, 
were  it  ever  so  gently.  But  Blanche  was  not  equal  to 
remonstrance — much  less  to  rebuke.  There  are  weak- 
nesses which  are  unpardonable;  and  hers  was  one 
of  such,  no  doubt.  If  any  excuse  could  have  been  al- 
leged for  her  supineness,  it  would  lie  in  this: — not  only, 
as  aforesaid,  did  she  hold  her  husband  guiltless,  so  far,  of 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  329 

absolute  criminality,  but  a  shrewder  and  bolder  legalist 
than  she  would  have  been  puzzled  to  frame  definite  arti- 
cles of  accusation  against  either  him  or  his  accomplice  ; 
for  the  guarded  demeanor  of  both,  if  it  did  not  make 
them  safe  from  suspicion,  made  them  nearly  safe  from 
impeachment.  Neglect,  Blanche  might  certainly  have 
complained  of;  but  it  is  very  hard  to  grapple  with  a  neg- 
ative, and  her  mignonne  hands  were  not  formed  to  grapple 
with  anything.  If  her  light,  tender  clasp  failed  to  detain 
the  truant,  she  could  but  fold  them  meekly  while  she 
sat  and  pined.  The  wiles  of  light  attack  and  simple  arn- 
bushment,  which  helped  her  only  to  effectually  achieve 
conquests  that  she  did  not  care  to  keep,  had  failed  utterly 
here ;  and  when  they  so  failed  she  had  no  more  science 
or  energy  in  reserve. 

During  the  tete-d-tete  at  dinner,  though  her  eating  and 
drinking  were  the  merest  form,  she  seemed  in  rather 
better  spirits  than  usual,  and  alluded  once  or  twice  to  the 
people  at  Drumour,  and  the  probability  of  Mark's  seeing 
them  so  soon,  with  perfect  composure,  and  mentioned,  al- 
most triumphantly,  that  she  had  secured  Oswald  Gaunt- 
let's escort  for  her  journey  in  the  following  week. 

When  it  was  time  for  Mark  to  depart,  he  came  round 
to  where  his  wife  was  sitting,  saying, — 

"  Well,  good-by  for  the  present,  Bianchella.  Take  care 
of  yourself,  and  follow  soon." 

And  he  meant  to  seal  the  adieu  with  just  such  a  care- 
less salute  as  that  of  yesterday.  Perhaps,  unknown  to 
himself,  his  tone  had  softened,  or  perhaps  the  pet  name, 
seldom  if  ever  bestowed  of  late,  had  its  effect;  but,  as  her 
husband  stooped  over  her,  Blanche  turned  toward  him, 
and  her  arms  were  wound  round  his  neck,  and  his  lips 
were  drawn  down  to  hers,  while  she  whispered, — 

"  Kiss  me  once,  dear — only  once — in  the  old  way/' 

A  grain  or  two  of  remorseful  pity  hindered,  just  for  a 
second  or  so,  the  smooth  working  of  the  well-ordered 
machine  that  served  Mark  Ramsay  for  a  heart,  as  he  did 
as  he  was  bidden.  He  did  not  grudge  the  caress,  nor 
seek  to  shorten  it;  and,  if  it  were  to  be  exchanged  at  all, 
it  might  well  be  prolonged.  Scarce  a  year  since,  those 

28* 


330  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

two  were  formally  made  one,  as  firmly  as  God  and  man 
could  weld  them ;  and  yet,  through  all  the  cycles  to  come, 
their  lips  will  never  be  joined  again. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

MR.  ANSTRUTHER  was  the  earliest  arrival  at  Kenlis ;  for 
the  Braucepeths  could  not  move  northward  till  after  Good- 
wood, and  Alsager  was  only  expected  on  the  eve  of  the 
twelfth..  Judging  from  his  demeanor  during  the  first 
days  of  his  stay,  the  former  personage  was  not  likely  to 
add  much  to  the  conviviality  of  the  party.  He  never 
fished,  or  rode,  or  drove,  but  seemed  to  prefer  a  solitary 
ramble  to  any  other  diversion ;  and  even  when  he  sat 
down  to  picquet  at  Mark's  special  invitation,  it  was  evi- 
dently more  to  please  his  host  than  from  any  special 
interest  of  his  own  in  the  game.  He  played,  too,  in  an 
odd,  absent  way,  not  nearly  up  to  his  proper  form.  There 
was  a  haggard  look  in  his  eyes,  and  more  than  once 
Blanche  was  struck  by  this  when,  with  an  instinctive 
feeling  that  she  was  being  watched,  she  looked  up  and 
met  them.  For  the  first  time  in  their  acquaintance,  she 
was  rather  inclined  to  avoid  than  to  seek  a  tete-&-tete  with 
Mr.  Anstruther,  and  for  a  week  at  least  there  was  little 
or  no  opportunity  for  such  a  thing ;  but  one  day — the  day 
before  the  Brancepeths'  arrival — it  could  not  well  be 
avoided. 

Mark  had  ridden  out,  as  was  his  custom,  alone,  imme- 
diately after  breakfast,  and  Blanche  had  insisted  on  Major 
Gauntlet's  profiting  by  a  morning  absolutely  made  for 
the  destruction  of  sea-trout.  She  almost  regretted  her 
self-sacrifice — loss  of  Oswald's  company  for  six  hours 
was  nothing  short  of  this — when  she  saw  that  Anstruther 
did  not  seem  inclined  to  start  for  his  usual  ramble,  but 
loitered  about  like  one  who  has  no  intention  of  stirring 
far  afield.  Watching  him  from  her  boudoir  window, 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING  331 

she  felt  certain  that  he  was  making  up  his  mind  to  speak 
to  her. 

"  I  wish  he'd  make  it  up  quickly  and  get  it  over,"  she 
said  to  herself,  with  something  of  her  old  petulance;  and 
it  was  chiefly  with  a  view  to  precipitate  matters  that  she 
left  her  own  room  and  established  herself  in  the  library, 
which  looked  out  upon  the  south  terrace,  where  the  gaunt 
figure  was  still  pacing  up  and  down.  She  was  not  kept 
long  in  suspense  ;  for  she  had  scarcely  settled  herself  on 
her  sofa  when  the  door  opened  and  Anstruther  entered. 
He  had  evidently  not  calculated  on  finding  her, — at  least 
so  soon  ;  for  he  started  and  half  drew  backward,  and 
advanced  at  last  hesitatingly. 

"  I  came  to  look  for — for  the  second  volume  of  Antedi- 
luvian Remains,''1  he  muttered. 

"  That  ponderous  book !"  Blanche  answered.  "  Couldn't 
you  put  off  poring  over  it  till  a  rainy  day?  This  one's 
too  delicious  to  be  wasted.  I'm  ashamed  of  sitting  in-doors 
myself;  and,  as  it  is,  I  think  I  shall  creep  round  the  gar- 
den before  lunch."  ' 

He  sat  down,  resting  his  elbow  on  the  table  that  stood 
betwixt  them,  and  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand. 

"The  book  doesn't  matter,"  he  said,  absently,  "  and  I 
suppose  the  day  is  tempting :  I've  hardly  noticed  it.  I 
may  as  well  go  out  for  my  walk,  after  all.  At  any  rate,  I 
won't  inflict  my  company  upon  you  much  longer.  Don't 
be  complimentary,  please.  I  know  it  isn't  genial  company 
at  any  time — less  than  ever  now." 

"  Why  now  ?"  Blanche  inquired.  "  Are  you  beginning 
to  suffer  in  the  same  way  as  you  did  last  year?" 

"Likely  enough,"  he  answered,  with  a  gruff  laugh. 
"  Such  things  are  apt  to  return  even  when  we  think  we 
are  rid  of  them, — which  I  never  did.  Will  you  let  me  put 
my  ailments  aside  for  the  present,  and  ask  about  yours? 
Perhaps  I  have  less  reason  to  say, '  Don't  think  me  imper- 
tinent,' now  than  when  I  put  the  question  last.  You 
haven't  grown  stronger  since  then." 

"Not  stronger,  certainly,"  Blanche  said,  with  an  at- 
tempt at  cheerfulness.  "But  who  knows  what  the  High- 
land air  will  do  for  me  ?" 

The  long,  bony  fingers  clasping  his  brows  contracted  a 
little. 


332  BREAKING   A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

"  It  did  you  more  harm  than  good  last  year,  that  same 
air  Mrs.  Ramsay,  I  have  given  offense  often  enough  in 
my  life  by  being  so  rough  and  plain  of  speech.  If  I'm 
to  be  unlucky  again  now,  I  can't  help  it.  I  mean  what  I 
say,  and  I  never  forget  what  I  say.  Perhaps  you've 
guessed  that  I'm  going  to  remind  you  of  something  I  said 
not  much  more  than  a  year  ago,  .when  I  interpreted  the 
letters  engraved  on  that  trinket, — I'm  glad  to  see  you 
haven't  got  tired  of  it  yet.  I  said,  you  may  remember, 
that  if  you  ever  needed  help  I  should  be  ready  to  serve 
you  in  other  ways  than  as  adviser  or  trustee.  I  think 
you  do  need  help  now;  and — I  am  ready." 

Blanche  looked  at  him  in  utter  amazement.  Could  he 
possibly  imagine  that  she — who  to  Laura  Brancepeth  had 
given  only  a  half- confidence,  to  Oswald  Gauntlet  none — 
would  lay  bare  to  George  Anstruther  the  secret  of  her 
heart's  bitterness  ?  A  grain  more  of  pride  would  have 
made  her  answer  haughty.  As  it  was,  it  was  cold. 

"Thanks.  You  mean  everything  that  is  kind;  but  I 
cannot  see  how  you  can  give  me  help  ;  and  I  don't  know 
that  I  need  any." 

The  hand  covering  his  face  sank  by  degrees,  till  it  rested 
on  the  table ;  but  the  shaggy  brows  still  shaded  the  down- 
cast eyes. 

"  You  do  not  see  ;  you  do  not  know,"  he  said.  "  I  both 
see  and  know. '  I  see  that  if  it  were  not  for  one  shadow  over 
your  life  it  might  run  on  smoothly  and  brightly  enough — 
ay,  for  years  after  I  am  dead  and  gone;  and  I  know  this 
shadow  might  be  removed.  There ! — I  have  no  patience 
to  speak  in  parables:  Blanche  Ramsay,  would  not  the 
world  look  pleasanter  if  Alice  Irving  were  out  of  it  or  out 
of  your  way  ?" 

Her  nerves  had  never  been  very  strong,  and  weakness 
and  fretting  had  unstrung  them  so  of  late  that  a  very 
slight  shock  was  enough  to  break  them  down.  She  was 
dreadfully  frightened  now.  It  was  not  that  she  had  a 
suspicion  of  the  real  import  of  Anstruther's  words.  Her 
only  definite  idea  was  that  she  had  fallen  on  one  of  the 
cases  of  sudden  and  unaccountable  insanity  of  which  she 
had  read  and  heard,  and  was  alone  with  a  maniac.  Look- 
ing up,  with  this  terror  upon  her,  she  met  his  eyes,  lifted 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  333 

now  for  the  first  time,  gleaming  with  an  eager  malice. 
Blanche  shrank  back  into  the  farthest  corner  of  her  sofa, 
with  a  smothered  cry.  She  knew  afterward  that  she 
had  answered  quite  quietly,  and  wondered  to  herself;  but 
at  the  moment  she  was  scarcely  conscious  of  what  she 
said. 

"Don't  talk  in  that  strange  way,  or  look  at  me  so 
strangely.  The  world  is  well  enough,  with  its  lights  and 
shadows.  I  have  no  wish  to  alter  them.  If  you  speak 
like  that  again,  I  shall  forget  you  are  an  old  kind  friend, 
and  be  very,  very  angry." 

The  effort  almost  exhausted  her,  and  she  broke  down 
with  a  gasp  and  a  sob.  Anstruther  saw  at  once  the  effect 
of  his  words,  precisely  the  contrary  of  what  he  had  in- 
tended; and  his  first  impulse  was  to  undo  this.  He 
swept  his  hand  quickly  across  his  eyes ;  and  when  they 
met  Blanche's  again,  the  evil  fire  had  died  out  of  them, 
and  they  were  colorless  and  cold. 

"Pray  don't  disturb  yourself,"  he  said,  in  his  most 
deliberate  tones.  "You  have  completely  misapprehended 
my  meaning ;  but  let  that  pass.  My  intrusion  was  quite 
unwarrantable  ;  and  I  ask  your  pardon  for  it  humbly. 
I'll  promise  never  to  repeat  the  offense.  It  is  sufficient 
for  me  to  know  that  you  don't  think  fit  to  trust  me.  I 
ought  never  to  have  expected  otherwise." 

The  staid  sobriety  of  his  manner  reassured  her  at  once. 
"It  was  only  his  brusque,  awkward  way  of  putting 
things,  after  all,"  she  thought  to  herself.  He  had  meant 
to  console  her ;  there  could  not  be  a  doubt  of  it :  only, 
she  did  not  want  consolation  from  that  quarter. 

"  There  is  no  offense,"  she  said,  softly,  when  her  breath 
grew  steady  again.  "  I  ought  to  be  grateful  to  any  one 
who  takes  an  interest  in  my  happiness  or  unhappiness ; 
and  I  am  grateful,  believe  me.  But  there  are  some  things 
one  does  not  talk  about,  even  to  one's  self.  The  best  way 
would  be  to  forget  everything  that  has  been  said  this 
morning  :  will  it  not  ?" 

And  she  held  out  her  hand,  still  trembling. 

"Much  the  best  way,"  he  answered,  as  he  put  it  to 
his  lips  in  a  dull,  mechanical  way.  The  life  and  heat 
that  were  there  a  few  minutes  ago  seemed  utterly  to  have 


334  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

gone  out  of  the  man,  and,  as  he  rose  up,  his  very  limbs 
seemed  to  move  stiffly. 

"  It  will  be  much  the  best  so.  And  now  I'll  go  for  my 
walk.  I  have  done  mischief  enough  for  one  day." 

So,  without  listening  to  a  faint  contradiction  from 
Blanche,  he  departed.  Though  she  called  herself  "  fool" 
for  having  been  frightened  at  all,  for  a  good  while  after 
she  was  left  alone  she  lay  fluttering  and  quaking,  like 
one  scarce  awake  from  an  ugly  dream ;  and  it  was  with 
great  difficulty  that  she  repressed  an  inclination  to  indulge 
in  a  hearty  crying-fit. 

Such  temptations  were  much  too  frequent  of  late,  it 
must  be  owned.  When  she  was  a  little  recovered,  she 
rang  and  ordered  her  pony-carriage,  and  caused  herself 
to  be  driven  down  to  the  nearest  point  to  the  trouting- 
ground.  In  truth,  the  fishermen  were  found,  so  to  speak, 
almost  within  hail.  Mrs.  Ramsay  brought  with  her  a 
much  more  elaborate  lunch  than  had  been  carried  out  in 
the  spare  creel,  and  the  two  consumed  it  in  great  comfort 
and  amity,  though  the  lady's  portion  would  scarcely  have 
overfed  a  canary. 

Often  and  vividly  in  after-time  will  the  memory  of  that 
scene  recur  to  Oswald  Gauntlet.  If  he  should  live  till 
his  ears  wax  dull  and  his  eyes  dim,  he  will  not  forget  how 
the  birches  whispered  then  overhead,  or  how  the  loch 
glimmered  through  the  sweeping  boughs,  nor  the  velvet 
sheen  on  their  moss  carpet.  No  wonder  if  they  lingered 
there  till  the  best  of  a  perfect  fishing-day  was  wasted. 
And  though  the  gruff  old  keeper  growled  under  his 
breath,  "  It's  a  sair  pity,"  it  was  perhaps  more  as  a  pro- 
fessional protest  than  because  he  thought  the  Sassenach's 
laziness  unnatural.  Probably  before 

"  Grizzling  hairs  his  brain  had  cleared," 

and  before  he  had  learned  to  value  aright  the  "worth  of 
a  lass,"  Donald  himself,  at  such  a  place  and  time,  would 
scarcely  have  been  more  keen. 

When  at  last  Mrs.  Ramsay  thought  it  was  time  to  re- 
turn, she  did  not  affect  to  decline  Oswald's  offer  of  escort. 
She  had  no  mind  to  trust  herself  alone  at  Kenlis  again. 
Nevertheless,  she  seemed  to  have  quite  shaken  off  her 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  335 

fright  of  the  morning.  Indeed,  her  companion  flattered 
himself  that  she  was  in  rather  better  spirits  than  usual ; 
and  there  was  not  a  trace  of  consciousness  in  her  manner 
when  she  met  George  Anstruther  at  dinner.  Neither  in 
the  latter's  manner  was  there  any  visible  alteration  from 
his  usual  stiff  formality. 

The  Brancepeths  arrived  early  on  the  following  day; 
and  as  soon  as  she  could  get  Laura  to  herself  in  her 
boudoir,  Blanche  confided  to  her  as  much  as  she  could 
recollect  of  the  scene  enacted  in  the  library  on  the  pre- 
vious forenoon.  La  Reine  was  a  good  deal  puzzled,  it 
must  be  confessed;  though  she  would  by  no  means  allow 
that  Blanche's  terrors  had  been  anything  but  absurd. 

"  I  always  fancied  he  was  very  fond  of  you  in  a  fatherly 
way.  Not  that  I  believe  much  in  fatherly  attachments: 
they  are  very  much  like  cousinly  ones — a  delusion  and  a 
snare.  I  have  no  doubt  he  meant  to  entrap  you  into  a 
confidence,  only  he  managed  it  rather  clumsily.  As  for 
his  going  out  of  his  mind,  he's  no  more  chance  of  doing 
that  than  you  or  I,  depend  upon  it.  I  don't  admit  that 
disliking  Alice  Irving — supposing  he  does  dislike  her — is 
any  proof  of  incipient  insanity:  if  it  were,  more  than  one 
of  us  will  want  the  camisole  before  long.  For  my  part, 
I  think  the  world  would  get  on  capitally  without  her; 
but  my  thoughts  don't  much  affect  the  question,  and  I 
don't  see  that  Mr.  Anstruther's  do,  either.  Lettres  de 
cachet  are  out  of  fashion  nowadays: — I'm  not  sure  that 
it's  altogether  a  blessing.  Can  he  be  thinking  of  making 
a  raid  on  Drumour  and  abducting  her  with  the  strong 
hand?  Or,  stay:  perhaps  he  meditates  marrying  her  in 
due  form,  and  getting  her  out  of  our  way  legally.  That 
would  be  something  like  self-devotion:  wouldn't  it,  dear? 
Of  course  he  wouldn't  reckon — no  man  ever  does — on  a 
certain  rejection." 

Her  reckless  rattle  was  not  altogether  without  a  pur- 
pose ;  and  it  did,  indeed,  provoke  Blanche  to  smile. 

"I  shall  think  you  mad,  Queenie,"  she  said,  "if  you 
go  on  in  that  strain.  As  to  what  he  meant,  I  haven't 
the  slightest  idea — nothing,  very  probably,  except  to 
show  that  he  was  sorry  for  me ;  but — I  didn't  like  his 
eyes." 


336  BREAKING   A    BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

She  shivered,  as  she  spoke  the  last  words  low  and  hesi- 
tatingly. 

"  I  don't  suppose  any  one  admires  them,"  the  other  re- 
turned, composedly.  "  But  he  can't  alter  his  eyes,  any 
more  than  he  can  his  nose,  or  chin,  or  any  other  feature  in 
his  face ;  and  some  eyes  have  a  trick  of  scowling  when- 
ever they  want  to  be  expressive.  It's  not  so  clear  to  me 
that  I've  been  talking  such  utter  nonsense,  after  all.  At 
any  rate,  Blanche,  I  won't  have  you  torment  yourself 
with  any  ridiculous  fancies.  I'm  certain  you  look  a  shade 
better  than  when  you  left  town.  Oswald  Gauntlet  must 
have  taken  great  care  of  you  on  the  journey,  and  since. 
I  really  think  I  admire  that  man  more  than  any  one  I 
ever  read  of.  It's  so  nice  to  see  him  with  his  gentle 
ways,  and  to  remember  that,  if  he  had  his  deserts,  he 
would  be  covered  with  crosses ;  and,  of  course, — like  all 
true  devotion, — it  is  unrequited.  Often,  if  I  were  to  hold 
my  tongue,  he  wouldn't  know  that  I  was  in  the  room. 
It's  very  good  of  me  never  to  have  a  jealous  fit." 

"  You're  always  good,"  Blanche  said,  as  she  nestled' 
closer  to  her  friend,  "and  so  is  he ;  you  can  hardly  guess 
how  good.  Now  let  us  talk  of  something  else.  You 
must  have  quantities  to  tell  me.  Begin  about  your  Good- 
wood party." 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

"A  BAD  lookout,"  said  Vere  Alsager,  as  he  shut  down 
his  window  with  a  shiver  betimes  on  the  morning  of  the 
12th — referring,  you  will  understand,  not  so  much  to  the 
landscape  as  to  the  prospect  of  sport.  The  wracks  of 
cloud  were  drifting  in  from  seaward,  broken  here  and  there, 
but  not  brightened,  by 

"  Dreary  gleams  above  the  moorland." 

By-and-by,  perhaps,  when  the  fractious  wind  had  done 
moaning,  blinding  mist  would  drive  the  keenest  home- 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  33? 

ward  ;  but  at  present  there  was  not  even  this  excuse  for 
shirking. 

"  We'll  have  the  hill  to  ourselves,  at  all  events,"  he 
muttered,  rather  sulkily,  as  he  donned  his  frieze.  "  There'll 
be  no  luncheon  foolery  to-day. " 

It  was  not  often,  even  in  his  thoughts,  Alsager  did 
the  gentler  sex  discourtesy;  but  he  was. in  a  misogynic, 
not  to  say  misanthropic,  mood  that  morning,  and  the 
state  of  the  weather  did  not  altogether  account  for  this. 
He  had  not  yet  succeeded  in  laughing  himself  out  of  the 
weakness  of  pitying  Blanche  Ramsay.  The  subject  of 
their  conversation  on  a  certain  morning  that  you  wot  of 
had  never  since  been  broached  betwixt  him  and  Mark;  and 
the  two,  to  all  outward  seeming,  were  just  as  good  friends 
as  ever ;  but,  though  he  had  received  no  notice  to  quit, 
or  even  a  hint  at  such  a  thing,  Vere  had  sought  and 
found  fresh  quarters.  He  had  not  as  yet  occupied  them ; 
but  it  was  understood  that  he  would  return  to  his  old 
ones  no  more.  On  his  arrival  over-night,  he  had  been 
very  much  struck  with  the  appearance  of  his  hostess. 
So  far  from  seeing  any  such  improvement  as  Lady 
Laura  had  fancied,  he  detected  a  decisive  change  for  the 
worse.  Not  only  did  Blanche  look  paler  and  thinner, 
but  there  was  a  sort  of  transparency  in  her  complexion, 
which,  even  to  an  unprofessional  eye,  is  of  evil  augury ; 
and  it  was  evident  that  the  light  duties  of  hospitality 
among  intimates  overtaxed  her  strength. 

From  the  sofa  where  Blanche  reclined — listening  to, 
rather  than  sharing  in,  the  low  causerie  carried  on  by 
Lady  Laura  and  Gauntlet — Alsager's  glance  turned  to- 
ward another  corner  of  the  same  room,  where  Mark 
leaned  over  the  back  of  Miss  Irving's  chair,  commenting 
on,  as  it  would  seem,  the  contents  of  a  portfolio  of  High- 
land photographs  that  lay  on  her  lap.  Alice  and  her 
father  had  arrived  the  same  day,  on  a  week's  visit.  Alsager 
perhaps  spoke  only  the  simple  truth  when  he  said  that 
he  would  not  have  chosen  the  girl  for  a  model.  But  if 
he  had  never  been  fascinated  by  her  beauty,  he  had  always 
fully  recognized  it, — never  more  fully  than  now.  As  she 
sat  so  quiet  and  demure — rarely  unveiling  her  dangerous 
W  29  " 


338  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

eyes,  still  more  rarely  smiling  with  her  rich,  ripe  lips — 
the  contrast  with  the  pale,  listless  figure  over  yonder  was 
as  striking  as  if  she  had  seemed  to  exult  insolently  in 
her  advantages.  So  it  struck  one  at  least  of  the  specta- 
tors: the  cold  cruel  cynic — not  greatly  changed,  per- 
chance, in  the  main  points  from  the  man  whom  all 
Florence  cried  shame  upon,  years  ago — was  conscious 
just  then  of  a  glow  of  honest,  unselfish  anger.  Truly, 
though  she  had  fared  ill  in  other  ways,  and  though  it 
helped  her  not  a  whit,  this  poor  Blanche  had  the  luck  of 
awaking  sympathy  with  her  sorrows  in  the  unlikeliest 
quarters. 

This  is  why  the  moroseness  of  Alsager's  morning  mood 
was  not  entirely  to  be  attributed  to  a  falling  glass.  Those 
whom  he  met  at  breakfast  seemed  scarcely  in  blither 
humor.  There  were  only  a  quartette  of  them, — all  men, 
of  course.  No  one  in  his  senses  who  had  no  business 
abroad  would  have  made  acquaintance  with  such  a  day 
an  hour  earlier  than  usual.  However,  there  was  no 
talk  of  staying  at  home,  or  giving  the  weather  chance  of 
clearing.  Nothing  but  rheumatism  or  Cimmerian  dark- 
ness would  have  kept  Mr.  Brancepeth  off  the  hill  on  the 
12th ;  Mark,  though  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  very 
expressively,  took  the  inevitable  bore  with  his  wonted 
coolness ;  and  a  soaking  more  or  less  mattered  little  to 
Gauntlet  or  Alsager :  so  they  sallied  out  in  pairs,  as  in 
the  previous  year. 

The  sport  was  very  much  what  might  have  been  ex- 
pected, except  that  it  lacked  the  excitement  of  finding  the 
grouse  wild.  Even  that,  nuisance  as  it  is,  would  have  been 
better  than  seeing  them  get  up  sulkily  and  drop  down 
wearily,  as  if  impressed  with  a  morbid  suicidal  idea  that 
life  was  not  worth  flying  far  or  fast  for.  On  the  whole,  it 
was  dreary  work — up-hill  in  more  senses  than  one — and 
the  gillies  themselves  were  rather  glad  when,  as  the  several 
parties  met  for  lu-nch,  the  thick,  white  mist-wreaths  set- 
tled steadily  down,  with  such  evident  intention  of  holding 
the  ground  till  nightfall  that  no  one  controverted  Mark's 
suggestion  that  they  had  done  enough  for  that  day.  As 
it  was,  if  the  corry  beneath  them  had  not  been  easy  and 
straight  traveling,  they  might  have  had  some  difficulty  in 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  339 

groping  their  way  down  to  the  loch-side  and  finding  the 
boats  that  were  to  ferry  them  back. 

Northern  twilight  comes  late,  as  you  know ;  but  on 
this  afternoon,  so  far  as  the  sun  was  concerned,  it  was  a 
case  of  dead  reckoning,  and  by  six  o'clock,  any  one  stand- 
ing on  the  terrace  at  Kenlis  might  have  fancied  he  was 
looking  over  the  Thames  in  November,  rather  than  over 
a  Highland  loch  in  August.  If  it  was  dark  without, 
it  was  darker  within  doors — darkest  of  all,  in  a  certain 
corridor  facing  north,  at  the  best  of  times,  but  gloomily 
lighted  by  narrow  windows  holding  scarcely  more  glass 
than  stone.  Like  all  the  rest  of  the  house,  it  was  com- 
fortably carpeted,  and  the  embrasures  were  all  cushioned ; 
yet  it  was  not  a  place  where  anybody  would  be  likely  to 
linger.  The  family  pictures  lining  the  walls  were  not 
very  enticing.  No  winsome  dames  or  courtly  cavaliers 
were  to  be  found  among  them.  Those  austere,  hard- 
visaged  worthies  were  evidently  here  in  a  sort  of  honor- 
able banishment,  instead  of  being  actually  buried  in  the 
lumber-room. 

Nevertheless,  the  north  corridor  seemed  to  have  cer- 
tain attractions  for  certain  people  at  certain  seasons.  It 
was  nearly  half  an  hour  since  Mark,  passing  through, — 
quite  accidentally,  of  course, — had  found  Alice  Irving 
sitting  in  one  of  the  aforesaid  embrasures.  In  that  same 
spot  the  two  still  sat,  speaking  but  seldom,  and,  Avhen 
they  spoke,  seldom  glancing  at  each  other,  but  gazing 
out  always  on  the  mist  and  rain.  At  length  said  Mark, 
after  a  steadier  look  in  his  companion's  face  than  he  had 
indulged  in  hitherto, — - 

"Is  it  my  fancy,  or  is  it  this  dreary  half-light,  that 
makes  you  look  so  pale  ?  Alice,  you  are  not  ill  ?  Your 
hand  is  like  ice." 

The  words  were  simple  enough,  just  such  as  a  man 
in  all  innocence  might  have  spoken  to  any  woman  his 
familiar  friend.  They  were  quietly  uttered,  too,  and  yet 
they  breathed  a  tender  anxiety  which,  had  they  been 
addressed  to  herself,  would  have  made  Blanche  Ramsay's 
heart  leap  for  joy.  They  were  significant  enough  to 
Alice  herself,  even  without  that  other  eloquence  of  the 
fingers  twined  in  hers. 


340  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

She  was  not  pale  now ;  but  she  shivered  as  she  re- 
plied,— 

"  No ;  I  am  not  ill.  Perhaps  I  have  caught  a  slight 
cold;  or  perhaps  I  have  been  moping  till  I  have  begun 
to  stagnate.  I  wasn't  brilliant  when  I  came  down  this 
morning;  for  I  was  stupid  enough  to  have  a  bad  dream 
last  night,  and  not  to  forget  it  when  I  woke." 

"A  dream?"  said  Mark,  inquiringly. 

"  A  dream,  of  course:  how  should  it  be  anything  else  ? 
I  should  like  to  tell  it  you,' though.  I  thought  I  was 
here  in  Kenlis,  but  in  a  part  of  the  castle  I  had  never 
seen.  It  was  a  gallery  something  like  this,  only  much 
— much  longer ;  and  the  walls  and  ceiling  and  floor 
were  all  of  bare  gray  stone.  .  I  don't  know  how  it  was 
lighted,  for  there  were  no  windows,  that  I  saw,  and  no 
lamps  anywhere  ;  but  it  was  not  dark,  nor  anything  like 
dark,  for  I  could  see  the  great  door  at  the  farther  end. 
I  felt,  somehow,  that  I  had  no  business  there,  and  had 
lost  myself;  but  if  I  could  only  get  to  the  door,  and  if  it 
were  unlocked,  I  should  find  my  way  easily  enough.  I 
tried  to  make  haste,  but  could  only  creep  along,  and  the 
door  seemed  to  grow  farther  off  and  smaller;  but  I  got 
to  it  at  last,  and  it  was  locked — fast  locked — or  I  could 
not  stir  it.  I  was  so  frightened  that  I  wanted  to  scream ; 
but  I  could  only  just  whisper,  'Help.'  Almost  before  I 
had  spoken  the  word,  I  heard  a  rustle,  like  the  rustle  of  a 
woolen  dress,  outside,  and  then  a  laugh — a  low,  dreadful 
laugh.  I  wished — oh,  how  I  wished! — that  I  had  let  the 
door  stay  locked  forever,  rather  than  have  called  the 
Brown  Lady  to  open  it.  I  knew  it  before  I  saw,  as  the 
door  swung  ajar,  the  skirt  of  the  dark-brown  robe.  I 
fell  forward  on  the  flags,  my  eyes  in  my  hands  ;  for,  some- 
how, I  felt  they  would  be  blighted  if  she  looked  upon  my 
face ;  but  the  next  moment  I  knew  she  was  bending  over 
me,  and  I  heard  her  laugh  again,  and  say, — don't  think  I 
am  romancing:  I  can  remember  every  syllable, — 

" '  Ye've  thought  to  save  your  bonnie  face:  peek  in  the 
glass  when  ye  rise.' 

"  It  was  the  agony  of  fear  that  woke  me  then.  At 
first  I  lay  panting  and  trembling — too  thankful  to  find  it 
was  only  a  dream ;  but  as  my  breath  came  back  I  seemed 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  341 

to  hear  that  same  rustle  of  woolen  stuff,  and  then  my 
rooni-door  closing  very  stealthily.  At  first  I  was  more 
frightened  than  ever,  but  then  said  to  myself  it  was  just 
the  sort  of  thing  one  would  be  likely  to  imagine  after  such 
a  dream.  Presently  I  took  courage  to  draw  the  curtain 
and  peep  out.  The  door  was  fast  shut,  and  everything — 
as  far  as  I  could  see  by  the  lamplight — exactly  as  Julie 
had  left  it;  and  so  she  said  when  I  asked  her  the  ques- 
tion this  morning.  So  it  must  have  been  a  fancy,  and  a 
very  foolish  one,  too, — not  half  enough  to  account  for  my 
bad  spirits  to-day.  I  have  heard  of  people  playing  cruel 
tricks;  but  this  is  the  last  place  on  earth  where  one 
would  fear  such  a  thing." 

"  The  very  last,"  Mark  answered,  frowning.  "  There's 
not  a  man  or  woman 'here  capable  of  a  vulgar  practical 
joke  —  even  if  they  would  risk  the  consequences.  But 
how  came  you  to  dream  of  such  horrors?  I  was  not 
aware  that  you  had  ever  heard  of  that  absurd  legend,  or 
that  any  one — except  an  old  crone  or  two — believed  in  it. 
However,  all  things  considered,  I  don't  wonder  at  it. 
No:  it  must  have  been  pure  fancy;  but  what  with  that 
and  the  dream,  I  don't  wonder  at  your  looking  pale.  It's 
been  such  a  dreary  day  for  you  too,  my  Alice." 

Her  hand  still  rested  in  his,  and  she  did  not  resist  when 
he  drew  her  closer  to  his  side,  nor  reprove  him  for  those 
two  last  guilty  words.  She  was  in  one  of  her  reckless 
moods  just  then,  and  something  else  besides  mere  depres- 
sion of  spirits  had  contributed  to  this.  Alice  was  still 
sensitive  in  her  pride,  if  not  in  her  conscience,  and  Laura 
Brancepeth's  cold  civility  had  galled  her  all  through  that 
day  keenly.  It  was  so  very  seldom  that  La  Reine  Gail- 
larde  kept  any  one  at  a  distance,  that  reserve  on  her  part 
was  more  significant  than  rudeness  would  have  been  in 
such  a  woman  as  Lady  Peverell. 

"Yes:  it  was  rather  a  dreary  morning," she  said,  with 
a  sigh.  "I'm  very  glad  you  were  driven  off  the  hill  so 
soon;  you  see,  there  was  no  one  at  home  I  cared  for 
much,  or — what  is,  perhaps,  more  to  the  purpose — who 
cared  for  me.  Papa  hasn't  shown  to-day,  and  there  was 
no  one  else  at  home." 

Mark  smiled.  lie  had  seen  enough  of  these  feminine 
29* 


342  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;     OR, 

reprisals,  to  guess  what  Alice  had  suffered,  and  at  whose 
bauds  she  had  suffered  it. 

"  So  they  were  not  hospitable  to  you  within-doors  ? 
Now,  who  was  in  fault,  I  wonder?" 

She  drew  her  hand  away, — though  he  would  still  have 
detained  it, — coloring  deeply. 

"  Not  Mrs.  Ramsay,  you  may  be  sure.  She's  always 
much  gentler  and  kinder  than — than — I  deserve." 

"Then  it  was  Lady  Laura?"  Mark  said,  with  a  cer-  ' 
tain  contempt.  "  Nobody  ever  minds  what  she  says  or 
thinks.  She  would  not  have  been  so  warlike  if  she  had 
a  flirtation  of  her  own  on  hand.  But  she  takes  after 
Cleopatra  in  more  ways  than  '  in  the  swarthy  cheeks  and 
bold  black  eyes;'  and  now,  I  suppose, 

'  It  chafes  her  that  she  cannot  bend 
One  will,  nor  tame  and  tutor  with  her  eye 
That  doll,  cold-blooded  gunner.' 

Never  mind,  Alice.  Perhaps  some  day  you'll  choose 
your  own  company  at  Kenlis ;  and  then  you  needn't  be 
troubled  with  people  who  don't  care  about  you." 

She  rose  up  quickly. 

"  Hush  !  You  know  I  never  like  to  hear  you  speak  so ; 
and  I  like  it  less  than  ever  to-day.  It  will  bring  bad  luck, 
if  nothing  worse.  Now  I  must  go:  I've  stayed  too  long. 
I  should  not  like  to  be  missed  down-stairs." 

"  When  it's  a  question  of  the  proprieties,  up-stairs,  or 
down-stairs,  or  in  my  lady's  chamber,  there's  an  end  of  all 
argument.  It's  a  pity  you  have  overstayed  your  time. 
Perhaps  we'd  better  have  kept  the  hill,  after  all." 

She  turned  where  she  stood,  and  laid  her  hand  on  his 
arm,  looking  up  at  him  with  such  a  softness  in  her 
changeful  eyes  as  he  had  never  seen  there  yet. 

"  Unjust! — unkind  1" 

That  was  all  she  said,  and  then  her  head  drooped  and 
drooped  yet  lower  and  lower,  till  it  rested  on  his  shoulder. 
Mark's  arm  girt  her  waist,  and  he  too  bent  his  head  till 
his  lips  lighted  on  her  brow,  and  there  abode. 

I  by  no  means  wish  to  enlist  your  sympathies  for  Alice 
Irving;  but  in  settling  her  sentence  certain  things  should 
be  considered.  That  she  had  acted  cruelly  and  basely  in 


BLANCHE  ELLERSHE'S  ENDING.  343 

stealing — or  in  accepting,  it  matters  not  which — the  treas- 
ure of  another  woman's  life, — more  basely  and  cruelly 
still  in  founding  hopes  on  that  other's  death, — no  casuist 
could  dispute :  yet  these  hopes  were  not  mercenary.  To 
prevent  her  father's  interference,  she  had  caused  him  to 
believe  that  a  calculating  ambition,  rather  than  blind  im- 
pulse, had  guided  her  hitherto ;  but  it  was  not  so.  Had 
Mark  been  landless  and  nameless,  she  would  still  have 
been  tempted — sorely  tempted  —  to  follow  him  to  the 
world's  end.  This  unholy  love  of  hers  was  as  sincere, 
except  that  it  was  not  as  abiding,  as  any  that  has  been 
blessed  at  God's  altar ;  and,  moreover,  it  was  her  first 
love.  Strange  enough,  was  it  not,  that  just  the  same 
miracle  should  have  been  wrought  in  her  case  as  in 
Blanche  Ramsay's,  and  that  both  should  have  been 
wrought  by  the  same  hand?  And  yet  not  so  strange. 
We  should  know  by  this  time  that  Detur  Digniori  is 
about  the  last  device  that  should  be  borne  by  celui  qu'on 
aime.  And  then  remember  what  Alice's  training  had 
been.  She  had  had  no  mother,  since  she  could  lisp  the 
name.  Left  to  ruu  wild  in  her  own  fashion,  she  had  been 
kept  ever  since  girlhood,  by  her  father's  negligence,  if  not 
by  his  will,  always  within  the  glow  of  the  furnace  of  temp- 
tation. Perhaps  she  had  fared  better  than  many  would 
have  done  in  escaping  hitherto — as  she  had  in  very  truth 
escaped — without  any  serious  scar.  If  the  smell  of  fire 
still  clung  to  her  garments,  was  it  wonderful? 

The  girl  had  had  wonderfully  little  happiness  in  her 
life — perhaps,  with  all  her  faults,  rather  less  than  her 
share — so  little,  indeed,  that  some  charitable  Christians,  if 
they  knew  all,  might  have  held  that  her  resting  there  con- 
tentedly was  not  absolutely  an  unpardonable  sin.  Recov- 
ering her  self-possession,  she  withdrew  herself  from  the 
half  embrace,  and  moved  swiftly  away.  Mark  knew  bet- 
ter than  to  attempt  to  detain  her. 

When  he  was  alone,  he  turned  again,  pressing  his  fore- 
head against  the  glass,  and  his  hand  against  the  stone 
mullion,  as  though  he  wished  by  the  cold  contact  to  quiet 
the  fever  in  his  blood ;  but  when  shortly  after  he  saun- 
tered into  the  library,  whore  most  of  the  others  were 
assembled,  you  would  have  judged,  from  the  slightly 


344  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

bored  expression  of  his  face,  that  he  had  just  had  an  inter- 
view with  his  factor.  They  had  a  great  deal  of  music 
that  evening ;  and,  one  way  or  other,  everybody  was  so 
much  engaged  that  a  brief  absence  of  Mr.  Anstruther's 
was  not  noticed  by  any  one  of  the  party.  He  was  not 
away  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  returned  just 
when  Alice  was  beginning  her  last  song.  It  was  an  old 
Breton  chanson,  very  rude  in  its  rhythm  and  simple  in  its 
melody,  but  with  wild  thrilling  cadences  exactly  suited 
to  her  rich,  flexible  voice.  The  words  matter  nothing — 
indeed,  they  were  in  patois;  but  the  burden  of  the  chant 
was  "farewell." 

"  I  do  hope  it  will  be  fine  to-morrow,"  Miss  Irving  said. 
"If  it's  very  bright  and  warm,  could  we  not  go  out  with 
the  lunch  ?" 

She  looked  rather  hesitatingly  at  Laura  Brancepeth  ; 
but  the  appeal  was  by  no  means  successful. 

"  You  can  do  as  you  please,"  La  Reine  answered.  "  I 
shall  stay  and  keep  Blanche  company." 

Alice  bit  her  lip  in  anger — not  more  at  the  rebuff,  than 
because  she  felt  she  was  coloring. 

"  Will  you  take  me,  papa  ?"  she  asked.  "  Of  course  I 
can't  possibly  go  alone." 

"  And  why  not  ?"  Lady  Laura  inquired,  coolly.  "  Je 
n'en  vois  pas  la  difficulte.  Above  a  certain  degree  in 
north  latitude,  chaperons  are  not  required." 

Irving  didn't  like  the  turn  of  the  conversation,  but  did 
not  think  fit  to  take  up  the  glove  in  his  daughter's  behalf 
just  then :  so  he  answered,  with  his  placid  smile, — 

"  Certainly,  child.  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  squire  you, 
if  it's  anything  like  a  day." 

Then  they  separated  for  the  night. 

Laura  Brancepeth,  knowing  what  she  knew, — setting 
all  suspicion  aside, — owed  little  charity  to  Alice  Irving  ; 
yet  she  would  never  have  spoken  or  looked  so  hardly  if 
she  could  have  foreseen  what  one  hour  would  bring  forth. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  345 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

ONE  of  the  pleasantest  rooms  at  Kenlis,  especially  under 
lamplight,  was  the  smoking-room.  It  had  formerly  been 
used  as  a  second  library  ;  but  of  its  studious  aspect  there 
were  few  traces  now.  A  great  trophy  of  Eastern  arms 
hung  over  the  fireplace  ;  two  or  three  bookcases  of  black 
oak  were  evidently  left  there  rather  as  garnish  for  the 
walls  than  for  any  studious  purposes  ;  and  in  any  of  those 
lazy  luxurious  chairs  work  would  have  been  impossible. 
Anstruther  and  Irving  were  playing  picquet ;  and  the 
other  three  men  were  discussing  the  prospect  of  the  mor- 
row, and  of  the  season — glancing  from  time  to  time  at 
the  progress  of  the  game,  on  which  they  had  bets.  Mr. 
Brancepeth  was  not  among  them,  but  in  his  own  cham- 
ber, already  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the  just. 

Though  they  did  not  notice  it  much  at  the  time, 
both  Alsager  and  Gauntlet  remembered  afterward  how 
strangely  Anstruther  looked  that  evening.  He  had  ac- 
cepted Irving's  challenge  in  that  absent,  indifferent  way 
to  which  reference  has  been  made  before  ;  and  he  had  not 
spoken  a  syllable  since,  beyond  what  was  absolutely  re- 
quired in  scoring ;  but  that  vigilant  anxiety  in  his  eyes 
was  more  remarkable  than  ever — only  he  seemed  to  be 
watching  not  his  adversary  or  the  game,  but  something, 
as  it  were,  in  the  distance. 

The  last  hand  was  almost  played,  for  Irving,  with  a 
dash  of  triumph  in  his  courtly  smile,  was  about  to  declare 
a  point  and  sequence  that  must  needs  have  been  decisive 
in  his  favor,  when  he  dropped  his  cards  and  sprang  to  his 
feet,  as  did  every  man  there  present — Anstruther  over- 
turning the  table  as  he  rose. 

From  overhead  there  came  a  terrible  cry — something 
betwixt  shriek  and  wail — significant,  not  of  physical  tor- 
ture alone,  but  of  utter  despair — such  a  cry  as  the  mere 
parting  of  soul  and  body  would  scarcely  wring  even  from 


346  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

the  weakest — such  a  cry  as,  through  Heaven's  mercy,  sel- 
dom startles  the  echoes  of  this  our  earth,  though  it  may  be 
familiar  to  those  of  the  Place  of  Doom.  In  that  awful 
utterance,  more  than  one  who  heard  it  seemed  to  recog- 
nize a  voice  that  had  witched  their  ears  ere  now  with  its 
glorious  flood  of  melody,  and  more  than  one  said  within 
himself  what  Irving's  pale  lips  said  aloud, — 

"  My  God !     That  was  Alice's  scream." 

Little  as  either  of  them  liked  the  unhappy  girl,  as  they 
sprang  up  the  stairs  together,  Oswald  Gauntlet's  heart 
fluttered  faster  than  it  had  done  in  its  Baptism  of  Fire; 
and  Vere  Alsager  felt  a  quiver  of  the  nerves,  such  as 
might  affect  one  forced  against  his  will  to  witness  some 
ghastly  experiment  of  surgery. 

Tottering  and  stumbling  as  he  went,  Irving  folio  wed  at 
his  best  speed.  The  last  to  leave  the  room  was  George 
Anstruther.  Dore  might  have  caught  a  fresh  idea  from 
his  face  just  then.  This  man  was  already  numbered 
among  those  who  are  tormented — not  before  their  time. 
Ramsay  himself  was  across  the  hall  before  any  others  had 
left  the  smoking-room ;  but,  before  he  had  mounted  the  first 
flight  of  the  great  oak  stairs,  there  were  hurrying  feet  in 
the  corridor  above,  and  shrieks  of  women — not  like  the 
cry  that  had  startled  them  but  now,  nor  uttered  by  the 
same  voice,  but  rather  of  terror  than  of  pain.  He  knew 
well  enough  in  what  room  the  tragedy,  of  whatsoever 
kind  it  might  have  been,  was  being  enacted ;  and,  as  he 
came  to  the  half-open  door,  he  met  Laura  Brancepeth  on 
the  threshold.  La  Reine  looked  fairly  panic-stricken. 

"You  mustn't  go  in,"  she  said,  closing  the  door  behind 
her.  "  Don't  think  of  it :  it  is  too  hortible.  Her  maid 
and  mine  are  with  her.  They  will  do  all  that  can  be  done 
till  a  surgeon  comes.  Where  does  the  nearest  live  ?  Send 
for  him  instantly:  you  can  give  no  help  here." 

"  What  has  happened  ?"  Mark  asked,  in  a  hard,  dry 
whisper.  He  had  to  moisten  his  lips  before  he  could 
accomplish  even  this. 

In  a  very  few  words  she  told  him. 

Alice  Irving  was  not  given  to  cosmetics  ;  nor  was  there 
much  temptation  for  such  fraud.  Paint  or  pearl-powder 
could  have  done  little  for  her  clear  complexion  and  deli- 


BLANCHE   ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  347 

cate  coloring,  and  she  could  well  afford,  to  let  them  stand 
on  their  merits  ;  but  sometimes — especially  in  the  autumn, 
when  she  was  most  exposed  to  sun  and  wind — simply  as 
a  precaution  against  tanning,  she  would  bathe  her  face 
and  neck,  before  going  to  rest,  with  Milk  of  Roses  or  some 
such  innocent  lotion.  She  was  beginning  to  do  this  that 
night  when  her  maid  left  her.  Before  the  liquid  had  time 
to  dry,  her  cheeks  and  throat  began  to  smart  and  burn 
intolerably,  and  in  a  few  seconds  they  were  covered  with 
an  awful  blotchy  eruption — like  an  aggravation  of  ery- 
sipelas— that  was  not  only  skin-deep,  but  seemed  to  cor- 
rode the  flesh.  Casting  the  bottle  aside, — it  was  smashed 
to  atoms  where  it  fell, — she  sprang  to  her  mirror.  Look- 
ing on  the  reflection  therein,  she  cried  aloud  in  her  despair 
as  she  would  never  have  cried  in  her  pain. 

Can  you  wonder  at  it?  It  is  well  to  prate  and  preach 
about  the  worthlessness  of  surface  beauty;  but  show  me 
the  woman  who  without  one  instant's  preparation  will 
accept  the  change  from  fair  to  foul — from  lovesome  to 
laidly — unrepiningly,  and  I  will  bow  before  such  a  world's- 
wonder  as  neither  we  nor  our  fathers  have  known. 

Though  she  knew  it  was  but  a  disguise  that  she  could 
doff  in  her  own  good  time,  even  Medea  could  not  com- 
plete without  a  pang  the  hideous  self-transformation  that 
was  to  beguile  the  daughters  of  Pelias,  when 

"she  poured, 

Into  the  hollow  of  an  Indian  gourd, 
A  pale  green  liquor;  wherefrom  there  arose 
Such  scent  as  o'er  some  poisonous  valley  blows, 
Where  naught  but  dull-scaled,  twining  serpents  dwell. 
Not  any  more  now  could  the  Colchian  smell 
The  watermint,  the  pine-trees,  or  the  flower 
Of  the  heaped-up,  sweet,  odorous  virgin's-bower; 
But  shuddering,  and  with  lips  grown  pale  and  wan, 
She  took  the  gourd,  and  with  shut  eyes  began 
Therefrom  her  body  to  anoint  all  o'er; 
And,  this  being  done,  she  turned  not  any  more 
Unto  the  woodland  brook." 

While  La  Heine  was  speaking,  and  while  Mark  stared 
at  her  as  if  he  only  half  realized  her  meaning,  Irving 
came  up  behind  them.  The  other  two  men  had  suffered 
him  to  pass  them  at  the  stair-head,  where  Anstruther 
halted,  and  the  others  stood  aloof  in  the  corridor. 


348  BREAKING  A    BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

"  You  will  go  in,"  Laura  said,  opening  the  door  wide 
enough  to  let  the  father  pass  in,  and  shutting  it  again 
behind  him.  In  that  brief  instant  Mark  Ramsay  heard 
and  saw  more  than  he  was  ever  likely  to  forget:  he 
heard  a  deep,  hoarse  moaning,  like  that  of  one  choking 
in  quinsy;  he  saw  Alice  Irving  groveling  prone  on  her 
face,  as  she  had  groveled  in  her  dream. 

If,  as  they  sat  in  yonder  north  window  together,  a 
jagged  rift  of  flame  had  shot  suddenly  out  of  the  low 
clouds  and  laid  the  woman,  whose  hand  he  held,  dead 
and  black  beside  him,  Mark  would  not  have  felt  half  so 
horror-stricken  and  helpless  as  he  now  did.  Yet,  as  he 
turned  to  give  orders  to  one  of  the  servants,  who  were 
hurrying  up  by  this  time,  about  fetching  a  surgeon  in- 
stantly, his  face  was  marvelously  calm — only  it  looked  so 
infinitely  older. 

"  The  rest  of  you  go  down,"  he  went  on.  "  This  part  of 
the  house  must  be  kept  perfectly  quiet,  and  all  the  help 
that  is  wanted  at  present  is  here ;  unless — unless — any 
one  knows  anything  of  surgery  ?" 

Rather  vacantly,  than  with  any  apparent  hope,  as  it 
seemed,  of  its  being  answered,  his  glance  wandered  from 
Alsager  to  Gauntlet  and  rested  at  last  upon  George  An- 
struther  —  standing  still  at  the  -stair-head.  All  three 
shook  their  heads;  but  Anstruther  averted  his  as  he  did 
so,  and  you  might  have  seen  the  hand  behind  him  clutch 
the  oak  balustrade,  as  though  without  some  such  sup- 
port he  would  have  staggered.  Mark  noticed  nothing  of 
this;  but,  as  he  turned  away  to  the  stairs  again,  he  saw 
Laura  Brancepeth  start  forward  from  the  doorway,  and 
he  heard  her  say, —  , 

"Blanche,  how  could  you  be  so  rash?  You're  not  fit 
to  leave  your  room,  much  less  to  be  here." 

The  next  moment  he  was  looking  at  his  wife,  fasci- 
nated, so  to  speak,  in  spite  of  himself,  by  her  strange 
expression.  There  had  been  a  kind  of  horror  awhile 
ago  even  in  Laura  Brancepeth's  bold  black  eyes ;  and, 
considering  the  temperament  of  the  two,  that  this  should 
have  appeared  in  Blanche's  intensified,  was  but  natural. 
But  why  should  they  betray  a  horror  of  remorse  as  well 
as  a  horror  of  fear?  And  why  should  they  turn  with 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  349 

awful  questioning  toward  George  Anstruther's  still 
averted  face  ?  White,  even  down  to  the  lips,  as  the  lace 
on  her  dressing-robe,  Mrs.  Ramsay  stood  panting  and 
quivering ;  but  she  never  spoke  till  she  drooped  her 
head  on  La  Reine's  shoulder,  clasping  her  hands  tightly 
round  the  other's  arm,  and  only  that  one  caught  the 
whisper, — 

"God  help  us!    I  know  what  he  meant  now." 

Laura  started  violently,  and  for  a  second  or  two  she 
felt  fainter  than  when  she  first  looked  on  the  ruin  within. 
But  the  very  peril  of  the  situation — though  she  embraced 
it  not  wholly — nerved  her  to  an  effort.  Bad  as  things 
were,  she  felt  they  might  be  worse  yet. 

"Hush!"  she  murmured,  swiftly.  "You  don't  know 
what  mischief  you  may  do."  Then  she  said,  aloud, 
"  Let  me  take  you  back  to  your  room,  Blanche,  while 
you  can  walk.  It  is  madness  to  stay,  when  you  can't 
help ;  and  you  know  that  everything  that  is  possible  will 
be  done.  I  don't  answer  for  keeping  my  wits  about  me 
if  you  are  taken  ill  to-night." 

Mark  Ramsay's  gaze  dwelt  upon  the  two,  as  they 
moved  slowly  away,  with  a  steadiness  akin  to  malig- 
nancy; but  if  he  had  any  suspicions,  it  was  evident  that 
they  were  still  quite  vague.  Indeed,  he  was  in  that  state 
of  bewilderment  which  causes  a  man,  if  he  has  any 
power  of  reasoning  left,  rather  to  mistrust  than  rely  on 
his  first  impressions.  After  a  pause,  he  said,  composedly 
enough,  addressing  himself  to  Alsager, — 

"  I  think  you'd  better  all  go  down.  I  will  stay  here 
till  Irving  comes  out." 

Was  it  only  minutes  that  Mark  sat  there  staring  at  the 
door  over  against  him — listening  for  a  sound,  ever  so 
slight,  that  should  break  the  dead  stillness?  Would  it 
have  been  easier  for  him  to  bear  if  he  had  guessed  that 
the  sharpest  throe  of  mental  or  bodily  agony  had  not 
wrung  one  moan  from  Alice  since  she  knew  him  to  be 
within  hearing?  It  is  satisfactory  to  reflect  that  every 
iota  of  the  punishment  meted  out  to  this  man  now  had 
been  thoroughly  well  earned.  I  am  not  sure  that  there 
was  not  in  his  own  mind,  just  then,  a  consciousness  that 
the  retributive  justice  Which,  despite  his  fatalism,  he 

ao 


350  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

had  foreseen,  if  not  dreaded,  had  overtaken  him  at  last 
But  I  am  quite  sure  that  such  a  consciousness  did  not 
make  him  more  inclined  to  bow  to  the  chastisement,  or  a 
whit  less  savagely  bent  on  revenge  to  the  uttermost  on 
whoso  had  art  or  part  therein.  His  wife  knew  some- 
thing of  it,  he  felt  sure ;  and  whatever  she  knew,  before 
the  night  was  out  he  would  know,  or 

Before  he  had  thought  out  the  threat,  the  door  opened, 
and  Irving  came  forth,  his  face  wearing  its  courtly  mask 
no  longer,  but  almost  distorted  with  grief  and  rage. 

"  Can  you  give  no  guess  at  the  meaning  of  this  devilry, 
or  the  author  of  it?"  he  said,  hoarsely.  "The  bottle's 
smashed  to  atoms,  and  the  hell-broth  spilled,  but  I  rubbed 
my  finger  on  the  carpet  where  it  was  soaking.  Look  at 
that,  and  then  guess  how  Alice  looks  as  she  lies  there!" 

On  the  smooth  white  flesh  there  was  a  swelling  like 
an  angry  blain,  and  the  inflammation  was  evidently  spread- 
ing still. 

"  Guess  ?"  Mark  retorted,  shrinking  back  as  he  spoke. 
"  Do  you  suppose  if  I  could  guess  I  should  be  idling 
here?  But  we'll  not  sleep  till  we  have  found  out  some- 
thing. That's  for  ourselves;  but  can  nothing  be  done 
for  her — nothing?" 

"  Nothing  till  the  doctor  comes,"  Irving  replied.  "  Cot- 
ton-wool dipped  in  iced  water  seems  to  relieve  her,  and 
they're  trying  that  now.  She'll  be  in  a  raging  fever  be- 
fore morning,  I  suppose ;  perhaps  that's  the  best  thing 
that  can  happen  to  her.  I'm  not  to  go  back  till  I  bring 
the  doctor;  and — and  she  begged  of  me,  so  earnestly,  to 
take  you  down-stairs,  anywhere  from  here.  You'll  come 
away,  won't  you?  I'm  going  to  my  own  room  till  I'm 
wanted." 

They  parted  at  the  stair-head,  and  Mark  went  straight 
to  his  own  apartment,  where  lights  were  always  burning 
at  this  time.  He  remained  there  perhaps  twenty  min- 
utes, evidently  in  deep  thought;  then  he  went  up-stairs 
again,  and  passed  along  the  main  corridor,  without  linger- 
ing for  a  second  to  listen  at  the  threshold  of  Alice's 
chamber,  and  so  came  to  a  door  which  he  opened  softly, 
without  knocking.  It  led  into  a  room — half  dressing- 
room,  half  boudoir — where  he  found,  as  he  had  expected, 
his  wife  and  Laura  Brancepeth. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  351 


CHAPTER  XL. 

You  may  remember  that  in  the  early  days  of  their  ac- 
quaintance La  Reine  had  decided  that  Mark  Ramsay  was 
not  so  black  as  he  had  been  painted.  But  of  late  she 
had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  original  coloring  of 
the  fancy  portrait  was  about  correct;  and  he  was  as  thor- 
oughly out  of  favor  with  her  as  it  is  possible  to  conceive. 
The  reason  was  simple  enough.  Her  prejudices  against 
Mark  only  vanished  when  she  saw  that  he  had  both  the 
will  and  the  power  to  make  Blanche  happy  perfectly ;  and 
when  he  ceased  to  trouble  himself  about  this,  they  re- 
turned with  double  force ;  but,  for  every  one's  sake,  she 
took  special  care  to  conceal  her  dislike,  and  before  the 
world  they  were  the  best  possible  friends.  With  all  this, 
the  very  last  person  that  Laura  would  have  wished  to  see 
enter  the  room  at  that  moment  was  Mark  Ramsay. 

She  had  been  trying  her  very  best  to  soothe  Blanche, 
telling  her  that  Alice's  injuries  might,  after  all,  be  only 
superficial  and  temporary,  that  at  any  rate  they  must 
have  been  caused  by  some  terrible  mistake  in  the  ingre- 
dients of  the  lotion,  and  that  it  was  absolute  insanity  to 
impute  such  a  crime  to  George  Anstruther.  Blanche  had 
listened,  and  seemed  to  wish  to  be  persuaded, — -perhaps 
because  she  was  too  weak  to  argue, — and  she  was  lying 
still  now,  with  her  eyes  half  closed,  holding  Laura's  hand 
fast.  She  opened  her  eyes  when  her  husband  entered, 
and  started  up  with  a  faint  cry. 

If  you  had  seen  Mark's  face  just  then,  you  would  not 
have  wondered  at  her  alarm  ;  but  there  was  a  fell  lower- 
ing there  worse  than  overt  menace,  and  somehow  it  was 
evident  that  he  was  here  with  a  purpose — and  not  a 
kindly  one.  It  was  to  La  Reine  he  first  addressed  him- 
self. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  disturb  you  ;  but  I  want  to  say  a  few 
words  to  Blanche  alone.  I  won't  ask  you  to  leave  us  for 


352  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

more  than  ten  minutes,  or  to  go  farther  than  the  next 
room." 

Laura  was  sorely  tempted  to  rebel.  It  seemed  to  her 
little  less  than  cruelty  to  leave  that  weak,  fluttering  crea- 
ture to  fight  her  own  battle;  for  one  glance  at  Mark's 
face  had  told  her  that  battle,  in  one  shape  or  other,  was 
impending.  But,  unless  there  is  matter  for  the  Divorce 
Court's  handling,  it  is  very  hard  for  any  third  person  to 
hinder  a  husband  from  a  private  interview  with  the  woman 
who  has  sworn  to  honor  and  obey  him.  So  even  La  Reine 
was  constrained  to  yield  to  the  force  of  circumstances ; 
but,  as  she  rose,  she  kissed  her  friend,  whispering, — 

"  There's  nothing  to  be  frightened  at,  darling.  I  shall 
be  quite  close  by." 

Then  she  turned  to  Mark. 

"  You  will  be  careful, — won't  you  ?  She  has  been  so 
shaken  already  to-night." 

As  she  said  this,  there  was  a  pleading  look  not  often 
seen  in  her  haughty  eyes ;  but  Ramsay  did  not  seem  to 
notice  either  the  glance  or  the  words,  as  he  opened  the 
door  for  her  to  pass  into  the  sleeping-room  beyond,  and 
closed  it  behind  her  carefully.  Then  he  came  back,  and 
stood  gazing  down  at  his  wife  as  she  lay, — always  with 
the  same  darkness  on  his  face, — till  Blanche  could  bear 
the  suspense  no  longer. 

"What  is  it,  Mark?"  she  cried  out.  "What  have  I 
done?  It  is  too  cruel  to  frighten  me  so!" 

Was  it  possible  that  the  hard,  icy  voice  that  answered 
her  could  ever  have  whispered  "  Bianchetta"  ? 

"I  do  not  know  what  you  may  have  done;  I  do  not 
say  that  in  your  own  person  you  have  done  anything1. 
But  I  say  that  you  can  help  to  bring  guilt  home  to  others; 
and  this  help  you  will  hardly  refuse  me.  I  have  no  time 
for  paltering:  will  you  tell  me  at  once,  not  what  you 
know,  but  what  you  guess,  about  this  affair?" 

She  trembled  in  every  limb  as  she  turned  her  face  away 
till  it  was  half  hid  on  the  pillow. 

"What  can  I  tell  you?  How  could  I  guess  —  Oh, 
Mark,  it's  not  possible  you  suspect  any  one  here  of  having 
contrived  this  fearful  thing  ?  What  earthly  motive  could 
there  have  been  ?" 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  353 

She  had  risen  up  in  her  eagerness,  and  would  have 
caught  his  hand  in  both  her  own ;  but  he  drew  back  out 
of  her  reach. 

"  I  have  come  here  to  ask  questions,  not  to  answer 
them ;  but  I  will  this.  Yes,  I  do  suspect — and  more 
than  suspect — I  have  my  choice  between  believing  in  a 
miracle  and  believing  that  this  devil's  work  was  planned 
and  wrought  by  some  one  under  this  roof.  No  motive — ? 
Is  it  so  unlikely  that  you  should  have  found  a  friend 
shrewd  enough  to  guess  that  the  spoiling  of  Alice 
Irving's  face  would  please  you,  and  devoted  enough — 
that's  the  word,  I  suppose — to  accomplish  it?" 

Soft  and  yielding  as  she  was  by  nature,  and  weakened 
by  long  illness,  moreover,  there  was  still  enough  of 
woman's  dignity  in  Blanche  Ramsay  to  revolt  under  the 
cruel  insult. 

"I  have  not  deserved  this,"  she  said,  more  firmly. 
"  What  right  had  any  one  to  suppose  that  I  should  re- 
joice in  such  a  crime  ?  And  that  you,  of  all  people, 
should  hint  at  it — Ah,  Mark!" 

She  broke  down  with  a  sob.  He  laughed  out  loud ; 
and  Laura  Brancepeth,  within,  hearing  that  laugh,  drew 
closer  to  the  door  dividing  them. 

"  No  reason  ?  Not  if  they  guessed  that  for  a  year  past 
there  has  been  but  one  face  in  all  the  world  for  me — the 
face  that  has  been  marred  to-night  ?  The  end  sanctifies 
the  means,  you  know ;  and  what  could  be  a  holier  end 
than  bringing  husband  and  wife  together  again  ?  Why, 
they  put  Dunstan  in  the  calendar  for  searing  a  woman's 
face  with  hot  irons.  Why  should  not  they  do  as  much  for 
your  friend  ?  You  will  not  help  him,  either,  by  equivo- 
cating, I  warn  you." 

She  was  fairly  roused  now.  Did  not  George  An- 
struther  deserve  threefold  better  at  her  hands  than  this 
man,  who,  not  content  with  neglect  and  treachery,  must 
flout  her  with  the  insolent  avowal  of  his  sinful  passion  ? 
Why  should  she  give  up  a  friend,  howsoever  guilty,  to 
the  tender  mercies  of  one  who  would  not  show  her  even 
the  mercy  of  allowing  her  to  ignore — or  seem  to  ignore — 
her  wrongs  ?  She  looked  up  at  her  husband,  not  quaking 
or  flinching  now. 

X  30* 


354  BREAKING  A  BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

"  Such  words,  spoken  by  you  to  me,  are  simply  cow- 
ardly. I  never  sought  your  love ;  but  since  I  accepted 
it  I  have  tried  hard  to  keep  it — how  hard,  you  know  as 
well  as  I — and  when  I  thought  I  had  lost  it,  I  never  re- 
proached you.  I  only  hoped  that  God  would  have  pity, 
and  give  it  me  back  or  let  me  die.  And  He  has  had 
pity;  for  I  believe  I  am  dying — and  I  believe  you  know 
this.  You  might  have  bad  patience  a  little  longer ;  but, 
if  I  were  to  live  to  grow  old,  you  and  I  will  be  as  much 
apart  from  this  minute  as  if  one  of  us  was  buried.  There 
need  be  no  open  esclandre,  unless  you  wish  it:  I  care 
little  which  way  you  decide.  I  will  never  knowingly  see 
Alice  Irving  again:  yet  no  one  can  be  sorrier  than  I 
am  for  this  horrible  accident — I  believe  it  is  an  accident: 
at  least,  I  cannot  help  you  to  any  other  conclusion." 

Iler  voice  never  faltered  once,  though  the  darkness  in 
Mark  Ramsay's  face  deepened  with  every  word.  He 
strode  closer  to  the  sofa,  and  caught  Blanche  by  the 
wrist — not  crushing  it  at  all,  but  holding  it  lightly  in 
his  fingers,  as  if  he  only  wished  to  fix  her  attention. 

"  So  you  won't  turn  king's  evidence,"  he  said.  "  Well, 
I  gave  you  the  chance,  remember.  It'll  be  time  enough 
to  settle  our  conjugal  relations  when  to-night's  work  is 
done.  Now  I'm  going  to  deal  with  your  champion. 
Perhaps  he'll  prove  more  tractable  than  his  mistress." 

The  momentary  excitement  had  passed  off,  and  fear — 
not  so  much  for  herself  as  for  others — began  to  master 
her  again. 

"  For  pity's  sake,  don't  leave  me  so,"  she  murmured. 
"  You  are  under  some  dreadful  mistake.  I  can't  even 
guess  whom  you  are  alluding  to." 

"  Not  to  George  Anstruther,  of  course — Bah  !  I  thought 
you  were  better  at  dissembling.  Why,  your  eyes  be- 
trayed you  in  the  corridor,  and  your  pulse  convicts  you 
now." 

He  flung  her  hand  away  as  he  spoke,  and  turned  to 
go;  but  Blanche  caught  him  fast,  and  held  him  so  that 
he  could  not  wrench  himself  loose  till  she  had  slipped 
down  before  him  on  her  knees.  She  had  no  breath  to 
speak ;  but  the  agony  of  her  upward  look  ought  to  have 
pleaded  for  her  more  effectually  than  any  prayer  All 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING  355 

at  once  a  change  like  death  swept  across  her  face,  and 
Mark,  stooping,  was  just  in  time  to  catch  her  before  her 
head  struck  the  floor.  His  own  face  never  softened  a 
whit ;  but  he  laid  the  senseless  form  on  the  sofa  as  gently 
as  if  he  had  still  loved  it — raising  his  voice,  as  he  did  so, 
to  call  Laura  Brancepeth. 

As  La  Reine  advanced  quickly,  you  might  have  seen 
that  she  had  done  with  intercession ;  for  her  eyes  dis- 
sembled no  longer  her  aversion  and  scorn. 

"  So  you  have  killed  herl"  she  said,  low  and  bitterly; 
"  and  that  is  what  you  came  to  do.  I  half  suspected  it." 

They  had  flung  aside  conventional  courtesies,  these 
two — as  men  on  the  verge  of  mortal  duel  cast  away  cum- 
bersome garments.  As  Mark  lifted  his  head,  their  glances 
crossed  like  swords. 

"  I  have  done  no  murder — as  yet ;  and,  what  is  more, 
Lady  Laura,  I  have  used  no  poison-practice, — which,  con- 
sidering the  fashions  of  the  house,  is  perhaps  remarkable. 
You'll  find  Mrs.  Ramsay  has  only  fainted ;  but  I  doubt 
if  I  can  be  of  much  use  in  recovering  her.  I'll  send  her 
maid  here  at  once.  You  need  not  fear  my  disturbing 
you  any  more  to-night." 

And  so  he  went  out. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

WHEN  Alsager  and  Gauntlet  got  back  to  the  smoking- 
room,  both  were  too  thoroughly  unsettled  to  think  of 
going  to  rest ;  and  it  was  as  well  to  watch  there  as  else- 
where. There  was  no  danger  of  their  voices  being  over- 
heard ;  and  yet  it  was  under  their  breath  that  they  spoke 
of  what  had  happened  above. 

"  It's  the  most  horrible  thing  I  ever  heard  of,"  Oswald 
said,  as  he  drained  a  great  goblet  of  iced  water;  "  and  it's 
so  utterly  inexplicable.  There's  an  infernal  ingenuity 
about  it  that  don't  look  like  a  servant's  trick.  Her  maid 


356  BREAKING  A    BUTTERFLY;     OR, 

is  a  Frenchwoman,  to  be  sure;  but  why  should  she  have 
borne  malice  ? — such  malice,  too  !" 

"  Julie's  perfectly  devoted  to  her  mistress,  I  believe," 
Vere  answered.  "No:  it  was  no  servant's  work,  you 
may  be  sure  of  that." 

There  was  a  kind  of  intelligence  in  his  face  that  made 
the  other  ask,  quickly, — 

"  Then  whose  work  was  it  ?  You  have  a  suspicion, 
I'm  certain." 

"  Scarcely  a  suspicion — only  a  vague,  dim  idea,  which 
I  should  be  sorry  to  encourage:  I  don't  know  that  I 
ought  to  mention  it.  Well,  if  there's  no  further  cause  to 
justify  it,  you  will  consider  this  unsaid.  I'm  more  than 
half  afraid  Anstruther  knows  more  of  this  matter  than 
he  would  care  to  confess." 

"  Anstruther !"  Gauntlet  repeated,  in  profound  amaze- 
ment. "What  on  earth  makes  you  pitch  on  that  quiet, 
harmless,  old-fashioned  creature  ?" 

"I'll  tell  you,"  Alsager  said,  sinking  his  voice  still 
lower.  "  Did  you  ever  notice  all  those  flecks  and  stains 
on  his  hands  ?  I  did  long  ago,  and  wondered  how  they 
came  there, — for  his  neatness  in  other  respects  is  quite 
remarkable, — till  Mrs.  Ramsay  explained  it  by  saying 
that  he  was  a  great  chemist.  He  spent  half  his  life  in 
India ;  and  our  poisoners  are  the  merest  bunglers,  com- 
pared with  the  Easterns.  They  have  all  manner  of 
damnable  herbs  and  plants  and  juices  out  there,  that  we 
know  nothing  of.  The  Begums,  if  I  remember  right, 
were  often  quite  as  clever  at  disfiguring  as  in  slaughter- 
ing their  rivals.  You  must  have  heard  a  dozen  such 
stories  yourself." 

Gauntlet  nodded  his  head. 

"  I  see  your  drift  now,  and  there's  a  shadow  of  cir- 
cumstantial evidence,  certainly;  but  then  there's  an 
absolute  want  of  motive — unless  you  hold  it  to  be  a  case 
of  malignant  monomania.  We've  read  of  such  things: 
there  was  a  cure  in  Belgium  who  used  to  poison  the 
communion- wine.'' 

Alsager  looked  searchingly  at  him  for  some  seconds 
before  he  answered. 

"Au  absolute  want  of  motive?     And  you  say  this  ?    I 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  357 

confess  you  surprise  me.  Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  have 
begun  such  frank  speaking;  but,  as  it  is  begun,  surely  it 
isn't  worth  while  beating  about  the  bush.  I  believe  you 
have  known  Mrs.  Ramsay  from  her  childhood.  It  is 
scarcely  more  than  a  year  since  I  made  her  acquaint- 
ance; and  yet  I  guessed  some  months  ago  that  all  the 
grief  which  is  wearing  her  life  out  was  caused  by  the 
face  that  has  been  spoiled  to-night.  Ay !  and  I  guessed, 
besides,  that  yonder  'harmless,  old-fashioned  creature,'  to 
do  her  a  kindness  or  a  pleasure,  would  execute  what 
neither  of  us  would  have  nerve  to  plan." 

Oswald  Gauntlet  leaped  up  from  his  chair  with  a  bitter 
oath. 

"And  you  dare  to  insinuate  that  Blanche  Ramsay 
could  be  privy  to  such  loathsome  work,  or  that  it  was  to 
serve  her  that  it  was  done  ?" 

"  Sit  .down,"  Alsager  said,  with  his  rire  sous  cape. 
"  It's  pure  waste  of  chivalry.  Insinuations  are  not 
much  in  my  line,  and  I'm  just  as  incapable  of  imputing 
connivance  in  such  horrors  to  Mrs.  Ramsay  as  you  are ; 
and,  even  if  it  had  ever  been  otherwise,  I  should  have 
done  her  justice  after  what  I  saw  to-night.  I  wonder  you 
didn't  see  it  too  :  you're  not  so  sharp-sighted  as  I  took 
you  to  be.  You  didn't  remark  the  way  she  looked  at 
Anstruther  in  the  corridor,  or  you  would  have  thought, 
as  I  did,  that  her  suspicions,  at  all  events,  went  pretty 
straight  to  the  mark  and  had  not  far  to  travel.  But 
there  never  was  such  a  horror  on  the  face  of  any  accom- 
plice, even  so  remote,  as  was  written  then  in  hers." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  Gauntlet  said,  rather  confusedly. 
"  I  totally  misunderstood  you.  But  if  there  was  no  com- 
plicity on  her  part, — and  of  course  there  was  none, — why 
should  she  have  suspected  him,  more  than  you  or  me  ?" 

"  Ah !  there  I'm  hopelessly  at  fault.  Some  vague 
threat  of  his,  perhaps,  or  even  a  look  in  his  eyes  which 
she  remembered  and  interpreted  when  it  was  too  late.  I 
told  you,  from  the  first,  my  clue  was  a  very  slight  one; 
and  it  may  snap  at  any  moment.  I  only  wish  it  may. 
If  Mark  should  get  hold  of  it,  and  follow  it  up,  there'll 
be  worse  work  before  morning  than  these  old  stones  have 
seen  for  many  a  day." 


358  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

"  What  do  you  mean?"  Oswald  asked,  with  some  im- 
patience. "Can't  you  speak  plainer?" 

"  Well,  there'll  be  murder,"  the  other  retorted,  "  neither 
more  nor  less.  That's  what  I  mean.  I  hope  that's  plain 
speaking  enough  for  you.  Well,  we  can  only  wait  and 
see.  On  the  whole,  this  is  a  Twelfth  that  I  shall  not 
mark  with  a  white  stone  in  my  calendar." 

Then  there  ensued  a  long  silence. 


When  those  two  went  down  to  the  smoking-room,  An- 
struther  betook  himself  to  his  own  chamber,  that  lay  at 
the  end  of  a  passage  leading  out  of  the  main  corridor. 
He  locked  the  door,  as  he  entered,  so  hastily  that  the  key 
was  turned  before  he  was  aware  that  he  was  not  alone. 
Under  ordinary  circumstances,  his  valet's  presence  there 
would  have  seemed  very  natural ;  but  Mr.  Anstruther  at 
that  moment  desired  solitude  above  all  things,  and  he  was 
about  to  bid  the  man  depart,  rather  sharply,  when  a 
glance  at  the  other's  face  checked  him  and  changed  his  in- 
tention. It  was  a  countenance  of  the  ordinary  plebeian 
type,  not  remarkable  for  intelligence,  and  rather  good- 
humored  than  morose  in  its  habitual  cast;  but  it  was  en- 
tirely transfigured  now  by  a  strange  expression  of  mingled 
cunning  and  fear.  The  latter  seemed  at  first  to  predomi- 
nate ;  for  it  was  some  time  before  he  managed  to  answer 
his  master's  question  as  to  what  he  wanted. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you,"  he  said,  at  last,  "  about — 
about " 

He  jerked  his  thumb  toward  the  main  corridor. 
There  was  a  significance  about  the  gesture,  which,  no 
more  than  the  omission  of  all  form  of  address,  was  not 
lost  on  Mr.  Anstruther,  whose  brows,  contracted  already, 
were  bent  a  little  more  heavily ;  but  there  was  no  other 
sign  of  emotion  as  he  sat  down  and,  in  his  curtest  man- 
ner, bade  the  man  "say  out  his  say,  and  be  quick  about 
it,  for  he  wanted  to  be  alone." 

"  The  sooner  the  better,  as  far  as  I'm  concerned,"  the 
other  retorted.  It  was  quite  evident  that  he  was  too 
frightened  to  be  civil,  and  had  been  providing  himself 
with  Dutch  courage  to  boot.  "  I've  come  to  give  you 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  359 

warning — no  month's  notice  or  nonsense  of  that  sort.  I 
wish  to  go  at  once,  and  I  mean  to." 

"  Is  that  all  ?"  Anstruther  asked,  indifferently.  "  There 
need  be  no  difficulty  about  it.  I  suppose  you  know  your 
own  mind,  though  you  have  been  drinking." 

"  Xot  all,  nor  half  all,"  the  man  rejoined,  with  a  scowl. 
Anstruther  was  not  popular  with  his  inferiors,  and  per- 
haps the  valet  was  not  sorry  of  a  chance  of  venting  some 
suppressed  spleen.  "  I  mean  to  have  something  more 
than  my  wages  and  my  fare  back  to  town.  Now,  you're 
going  to  say  that  I  haven't  a  claim  even  to  that  much  in 
law.  Damn  the  law !  I  wonder  what  the  law  would 
think  of  such  work  as  you've  been  doing  to-night." 

Always  in  the  same  indifferent  manner,  Anstruther 
answered, — 

"  You  mean  to  imply  that  I  am  accountable  for  Miss 
Irving's  accident?" 

"  Imply  ?"  Prescott  snarled.  "  Yes,  I  do  mean  to  im- 
ply. Do  you  suppose  I'm  fool  enough  to  speak  as  I 
have  now,  without  proofs  ?  Ah ! — proofs  enough  to  bring 
you  to  the  gallows,  if  it's  a  hanging-matter;  and  if  it  isn't 
it  ought  to  be.  Would  you  like  to  know  what  they  are? 
Well,  bad  as  you  are,  you've  a  right  to  look  at  your 
goods  before  you  buy  'em.  I  began  to  suspect  there  was 
something  up  when  you  got  so  infernally  close  and  fond 
of  working  alone  at  the  chemicals.  I  wonder  you  never 
thought  of  locking  the  shop  up  when  you  left  it.  I  used 
to  ferret  about  there  when  you  were  out  riding,  and  one 
day  I  came  on  a  vial,  hid  up  in  a  corner,  half  full  of  a 
curious  whitish  liquor  in  it  with  hardly  any  smell;  but 
what  there  was  was  unlike  anything  I  had  ever  smelled 
before.  I  just  wetted  the  tip  of  my  finger  with  the 
stopper ;  and  I  thought  I'd  had  enough  of  experiments  for 
one  day.  I  dare  say  you  have  guessed  why.  I  put  the 
vial  back  again;  I  didn't  see  it  again  for  ever  so  long, 
though  I  looked  often  enough ;  but  I'd  swear  to  the  smell 
anywhere,  and  so  you'd  find  out  if  you  chose  to  go  with 
me  into  the  poor  young  lady's  room  yonder." 

"A  link  of  evidence,  certainly;  but  only  one,  and  not 
enough  to  convict."  Anstruther  spoke  with  the  quiet 
discrimination  of  one  accustomed  to  weigh  the  weight  of 


360  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

testimony,  and  with  no  other  interest  in  the  case  than  the 
anxiety  of  an  upright  judge. 

"Ah !  But  suppose  it's  not  the  only  one,"  the  other 
went  on,  with  malignant  triumph.  "  Suppose  I'd  noticed 
how  queer  you  looked,  and  how  your  hand  shook,  when 
you  were  dressing  for  dinner,  and  suspected  something 
was  coming  off — though  I'd  forgotten  the  vial  ?  Suppose, 
by  the  merest  chance,  I  had  been  in  this  room  somewhere 
between  nine  and  ten,  and,  when  I  heard  your  footsteps 
in  the  passage,  had  hid  behind  those  curtains,  and  seen 
you  take  something  devilishly  like  that  same  vial  out  of 
the  dispatch-box  that  has  no  key  except  the  one  you  wear, 
and  that  I'd  watched  you  leave  the  room  and  come  back 
again  in  five  minutes  or  so,  with  a  queerer  look  on  your 
face  than  I'd  ever  seen  there,  and  push  something  into  the 
heart  of  the  fire  that  cracked  and  spluttered, —  lucky  the 
day  turned  chilly,  wasn't  it?  —  and  then  pretty  nearly 
empty  that  pocket-flask — you,  who  are  so  mealy-mouthed 
about  a  drop  of  liquor  or  two?  Just  suppose  all  this,  and 
then  what  do  you  think  of  the  evidence  ?  I  expect  you've 
hung  men  on  less." 

Still  not  a  muscle  in  George  Anstruther's  face  moved  ; 
but  there  came  an  expression  into  his  eyes  that  made 
Prescott  resolve  henceforth  to  keep  the  width  of  the  table, 
at  least,  betwixt  them. 

"  The  evidence  is  strong ;  and  you're  quite  right  in  sup- 
posing that  I've  been  satisfied  with  less  in  my  time. 
That's  nothing  to  the  point,  if  this  came  into  court.  My 
line  of  defense  would  be  very  simple  and  easy.  I  should 
affirm  that,  finding  you  in  my  room  drunk  and  insolent, 
I  dismissed  you  on  the  spot,  and  that  you  had  trumped 
up  this  charge  to  revenge  yourself.  The  testimony  of  a 
discharged  servant  is  usually  sifted  rather  severely.  It 
would  come  to  a  question  of  character,  after  all.  There 
has  never  been  a  whisper  against  mine.  You  know  best  if 
your  own  would  bear  looking  into.  From  what  I've  heard 
of  your  antecedents,  I  should  think — not.  I  don't  say  it 
would  suit  me  to  bring  it  into  court.  You  want  hush- 
money,  of  course ;  but  you'd  better  consider  all  this  in 
fixing  your  terms." 

Prescott  bit  his  lip  sulkily.    He  was  not  altogether  pre- 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  361 

pared  for  the  case  assuming  this  complexion ;  but  he  could 
not  deny  that  it  was  a  probable  one. 

"I  don't  know  about  my  evidence  satisfying  a  jury," 
he  grumbled;  "  but  Mr.  Ramsay,  here,  is  the  nearest  magis- 
trate, and  it's  more  than  likely  it  would  satisfy  him." 

It  was  a  random  shaft ;  but  it  told  far  beyond  the  ex- 
pectations of  the  archer.  Whether  it  was  that  some  natu- 
ral instinct  warned  George  Anstruther  of  the  deadly  peril 
in  which  he  would  stand  if  he  were  thus  confronted  with 
Mark  Ramsay,  or  whether,  having  nerved  himself  to  en- 
dure a  distant  though  perhaps  certain  penalty,  he  shrank 
appalled  before  swift  and  instant  retribution,  it  is  hard  to 
say.  For  myself,  I  incline  to  the  latter  interpretation. 

There  are  numberless  instances  of  hardier  criminals 
than  he  being  utterly  cowed  by  the  news  that  the  three 
days'  grace  betwixt  them  and  their  doom  is  shortened  to 
one  hour.  Be  this  as  it  may,  Anstruther's  countenance 
had  lost  its  judicial  calmness,  and  his  voice  shook  with 
something  else  than  anger,  as  he  required  the  other  to 
"  name  his  price  at  once,  without  further  chaffering." 

"It's  worth  five  thousand — well  worth  it,"  Prescott  re- 
joined, sulkily  ;  "  but,  as  you're  not  made  of  money,  and 
I  want  it  in  a  hurry,  we'll  say  four.  If  you  haven't  got 
it  at  your  banker's,  you  can  get  it  fast  enough  in  London ; 
and  you'd  leave  this  to-morrow,  anyhow.  I'll  go  that 
far  with  you  for  the  look  of  the  thing ;  but  another  thou- 
sand wouldn't  tempt  me  to  stop  the  month  out  in  your 
service — no,  nor  hardly  to  brush  your  clothes  again." 

Though  for  mere  greed  this  man  was  willing  to  con- 
nive at  crime,  he  spoke  those  words  with  a  loathing  pal- 
pably sincere;  and,  amidst  the  tumult  raging  within  him, 
Anstruther  was  sensible  of  a  sharper  pang,  as  he  felt  that 
even  such  a  creature  as  this  had  the  right  to  shrink  from 
him  now. 

"You  shall  have  your  money,"  he  said,  speaking  with 
an  effort.  "You'll  trust  me  till  I  can  raise  it,  I  presume?" 

"Yes;  I'll  trust  you.  You  daren't  break  faith  with 
me;  and  I  believe  you  are  honest  in  your  way.  I'd  give 
something  to  know  what  set  you  on  this  game." 

"Will  you  go?" 

That  was  all  Anstruther  said;  and  the  words  came  in- 
31 


362  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;     OR, 

distinctly  through  his  hands,  that  covered  his  face  as  he 
rested  his  elbows  on  the  table.  The  valet  was  only  too 
glad  to  find  himself  safe  in  the  passage  outside,  with  his 
object  attained. 

Long  after  the  echo  of  his  footsteps  had  died  away,  his 
master  sat  motionless  in  that  same  position.  At  length 
he  rose,  unlocked  the  dispatch-box  to  which  Prescott  had 
alluded,  and  took  out  of  it  a  tiny  silver  tube,  scarcely 
thicker  than  a  crow-quill.  He  dropped  this  into  his  pocket, 
and  resumed  his  seat.  It  was  not  till  the  door  opened 
again  that  he  lifted  his  head. 

Was  it  worth  while  to  have  endured  the  agony  of  his 
recent  abasement — to  have  bought  shameful  safety  with 
a  bribe — to  have  been  made  the  mock  of  his  own  hireling 
— only  to  be  set  face  to  face,  before  the  night  was  out, 
with  Mark  Ramsay  ? 


CHAPTER  XLIL 

WITH  the  average  of  mankind, — to  womanhood  the 
aphorism  scarcely  applies, — audacity,  or  even  coolness, 
under  peculiar  circumstances,  is  very  much  a  question  of 
experience. 

There  flourishes  even  now,  down  in  the  West,  a  certain 
divine,  famous  alike  for  learning  and  godliness,  who 
became  more  famous  than  ever  from  the  manner  in  which 
he  bore  himself  in  time  of  sore  trial.  The  town  in  which 
he  ministered  was  visited  by  one  of  those  deadly  epi- 
demics that  are  scarcely  less  dreadful  than  the  ancient 
plague.  At  last  there  was  such  a  panic  in  the  place  that 
all  who  could  by  any  means  escape  fled  therefrom,  and 
some  even  among  the  doctors  came  reluctantly  to  their 
duties,  if  they  did  not  absolutely  shirk  them.  Now,  this 
good  parson  not  only  put  far  away  from  him  all  temptation 
— and  temptations  were  not  lacking — to  quit  his  post,  but 
labored  more  strenuously  than  ever.  Late  and  early  he 
might  have  been  found,  with  a  countenance,  if  not  cheerful, 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  363 

always  serene,  in  such  fearful  strait  as  was  he  of  old 
who  stood  between  the  dead  and  the  living  ere  yet  the 
plague  was  stayed.  When  at  last — partly  by  fever, 
partly  by  fatigue  —  he  was  brought  so  low  that  all, 
himself  included,  believed  his  hours  were  numbered,  he 
waited  for  death,  they  say,  not  less  composedly  than  he 
would  have  waited  for  sleep. 

Two  or  three  years  later,  the  same  divine  was  involved 
in  a  terrible  railway-accident,  from  which  he  escaped 
comparatively  unhurt,  though  his  situation  for  some  time 
was  critical  in  the  extreme.  He  preached  a  very  eloquent 
discourse  afterward,  wherein  he  described  his  own  sensa- 
tions at  length ;  and  a  more  beautiful  illustration  of  sub- 
missive trust  in  Providence  could  hardly  be  conceived. 
He  was  not  apt  to  vaunt  himself,  and  perchance,  by  some 
mysterious  process  of  thought,  had  come  to  believe  that 
he  had  in  very  truth  felt  what  he  described.  Neverthe- 
less, according  to  the  testimony  of  eye-witnesses,  during 
that  period  of  peril  he  did  nothing  but  wail  incoherently 
— being  fairly  distraught  with  fear. 

As  the  strongest  antithesis  to  this  godly  person,  take 
Cecil  Grantley.  He  would  fly  like  a  timid  hare  from  the 
vicinity  of  the  mildest  form  of  scarlatina,  and,  when  he 
joins  in  the  pursuit,  requires  much  priming  before  he  will 
negotiate  a  sheep-hurdle.  Well,  not  long  ago  he  got  into 
a  very  awkward  scrape,  the  nature  of  which  matters  not. 
Up  to  a  certain  point  he  had  to  deal  with  feminine  adver- 
saries, and  up  to  this  point  his  trepidations  were  simply 
pusillanimous.  Suddenly  a  fresh  personage  appeared  on 
the  scene, — a  most  truculent  personage,  too;  but  Cecil 
brightened  up  directly. 

"It's  all  right  now,"  he  said;  "we've  got  a  man  into 
the  wrangle  ;"  and  thenceforth  he  carried  the  thing  with 
a  high  hand. 

Now,  George  Anstruther  perhaps  was  not  physically 
or  morally  more  of  a  coward  than  his  fellows,  but  in  the 
even  tenor  of  his  life  he  had  hardly  ever  been  proved  by 
anything  like  personal  danger.  In  those  days — it  was 
before  the  Mutiny — the  gentle  Hindoo  seldom  belied  his 
character.  For  many  years  the  Indian  judge  had  been 
surrounded  by  people  who  would  no  more  have  dreamed 


364  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

of  menacing  him,  even  in  gesture,  than  of  insulting  a 
statue  of  Siva.  A  canter  across  an  indifferent  road  was 
about  the  roughest  exercise  he  had  ever  indulged  in.  He 
considered  the  honor  of  first  spear  by  no  means  worth  the 
risk  of  broken  bones,  and  would  go  a  mile  round  sooner 
than  scramble  across  a  moderate  nullah,  let  alone  leaping 
it.  Excitement  of  any  sort  he  considered  unwholesome 
and  irrational, — the  excitement  of  peril  most  irrational  of 
all.  While  his  villainous  scheme  was  still  in  its  first 
germ,  he  had  counted  the  cost  and  resolved  to  pay  it;  and 
when  he  grew  familiar  with  the  idea,  and  shrunk  from  it 
no  longer,  he  never  lost  sight  of  the  probable  conse- 
quences to  himself.  He  knew  that  the  mere  fact  of  his 
predilection  for  chemistry  would  be  sure  to  attract  sus- 
picion sooner  or  later ;  and,  moreover,  though  difficult,  it 
might  not  be  impossible  for  an  analyst  to  determine  from 
what  precise  region  the  venomous  ingredients  must  have 
been  brought.  Alsager's  surmises  were  right.  It  was 
during  his  sojourn  in  India  that  Anstruther  had  obtained 
these.  He  had  indeed  confiscated  them  after  they  had 
been  employed  in  similar  disfigurement.  He  had  taken  all 
possible  precautions,  to  be  sure  ;  and,  with  average  luck, 
the  chain  of  circumstantial  evidence  linking  him  with  the 
crime  must  needs  be  weak.  At  first  he  thought  he  had 
prospered  beyond  his  hopes ;  for,  though  he  was  last  to 
enter  the  corridor,  he  was  there  soon  enough  to  hear  Laura 
Brancepeth  speak  of  the  broken  vial.  There  was  little  fear 
of  analytical  tests  after  that.  But  then  had  come  the  blow 
which  put  all  his  calculations  to  the  rout.  It  had  never  en- 
tered his  head  that  stolid  "William  Prescott  would  be 
shrewd  enough  and  patient  enough  to  play  the  spy, — and 
play  it  to  such  fatal  purpose.  But,  though  he  was  taken  by 
surprise,  he  kept  his  self-possession  admirably  till  he  heard 
that  threat — it  was  only  half  intended  as  a  threat,  after 
all — about  Mark  Ramsay.  It  was  not  the  magistrate  that 
he  dreaded,  but  the  man  who,  if  half  the  tales  were  true, 
had  trampled  under  foot  written  and  unwritten  laws  on 
less  provocation  than  this  ere  now,  and  who  would  have 
been  scarcely  less  scrupulous  in  working  out  his  revenge 
than  he  had  always  shown  himself  in  working  out  his 
desire.  It  was  this  which  made  George  Anstruther  ac- 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  365 

cept  extortion  \vithout  bargaining,  and  it  was  this  which 
sent  a  shiver  through  his  blood  when  he  looked  up  and 
saw  who  stood  on  the  threshold. 

With  eyes  wide  open  and  vacant  like  a  sleep-walker's,  he 
stared  at  his  visitor  as  he  closed  the  door  softly  and 
turned  the  key  and  then  came  nearer  till  he  stood  just 
where  Prescott  had  been  standing  awhile  ago.  There 
was  nothing  very  alarming  in  his  face:  it  was  scarcely  so 
lowering  as  when  he  entered  his  wife's  dressing-room, 
but  it  was  even  more  set.  The  two  looked  at  each  other 
for  perhaps  half  a  minute.  Mark  watched  in  silence  the 
workings  of  the  other's  countenance.  They  would  have 
told  him  enough,  if  his  suspicions  had  slumbered  till  now. 
Then  he  said,  with  a  strange  quietness,  "  You  can  guess 
why  I  have  come  here." 

The  first  syllables  of  Anstruther's  reply  were  scarcely 
intelligible ;  but  the  last  were  uttered  more  clearly. 

"I  cannot  guess.  Has — has  it  anything  to  do  with  the 
— the — accident  of  this  evening?" 

"  Everything  to  do  with  the — accident.  We'll  call  it  so 
for  the  present.  You  remember  I  asked  in  the  corridor, 
just  now,  whether  any  one  knew  anything  of  surgery; 
and  you  shook  your  head  like  the  rest.  Perhaps  you 
were  taken  by  surprise,  and  hadn't  time  to  think  over 
your  resources.  It  may  be  hours  before  the  doctor  comes, 
and  every  second  may  be  precious.  Chemists  such  as 
you  are  often  carry  about  strange  drugs  with  them ;  and, 
if  you  have  no  drugs,  you  have  knowledge.  They  say 
all  poisons  have  an  antidote.  Is  there  none  for  this?" 

Anstruther  could  hardly  believe  his  ears.  Was  it  pos- 
sible that  the  person  he  so  dreaded  had  not  come  to  accuse 
.  or  condemn,  but  only  to  ask  for  such  aid  as  any  man  has  a 
right  to  expect  from  the  stranger  sojourning  within  his 
gates  ?  But  the  first  flush  of  glad  surprise  was  checked 
by  a  cold  sense  of  helplessness, — by  a  hopeless  feeling 
that,  though  the  door  of  escape  stood  wide,  he  could  not 
pass  there.  It  was  not  too  much  to  say  that  George  An- 
struther would  have  given  up  almost  everything,  short  of 
his  heart's  blood,  to  have  had  the  power  of  undoing  his 
deed.  Fear  of  the  consequences,  doubtless,  chiefly  swayed 
iiiui ;  but  there  was  a  tinge  of  remorse  too,  howsoever 

31* 


366  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

faint.  Moreover,  a  dreary  consciousness  that  all  had  been 
done  to  no  purpose,  and  that  not  one  doit  of  the  prize 
for  which  he  had  sold  himself  would  ever  be  paid,  had 
crept  over  him  since  up  yonder  in  the  corridor,  glancing 
up  once  sidelong  and  stealthily,  he  met  the  horror  of 
Blanche  Ramsay's  eyes.  But  it  was  not  to  be.  He  knew 
right  well  that,  though  besides  the  risk  of  fever  there  was 
little  danger  to  life  from  his  devilish  drugs,  their  effects 
were  past  the  art  of  man,  and  that  time  would  never  efface, 
even  if  it  should  mitigate,  the  hideous  scars.  The  face 
that  was  so  dangerous  yesterday,  no  woman  would  ever 
more  be  jealous  of.  Never  would  any  man  henceforth 
willingly  look  on  it  twice.  Though  he  dared  not  avow  all 
this,  he  dared  not  speak  contrariwise. 

"I  would  gladly  help  you, — most  gladly;  but  I  have 
small  skill  in  such  matters,  and  might  do  more  harm  than 
good  in  advising.  They  have  tried  cold  applications,  I 
suppose.  That  ought  to  give  temporary  relief;  and  I 
trust  the  surgeon  will  be  here  very  soon." 

Mark  gazed  well  at  the  speaker,  still  rather  earnestly 
than  threateningly. 

"Are  you  quite  sure  you  can  suggest  nothing?  Mind, 
I  ask  you  this,  knowing  that  mere  medical  skill  will  avail 
little.  Think  again.  It's  a  question  of  life  or  death." 

The  keen  perception  that  had  served  Anstruther  well 
in  ordinary  matters  quite  failed  him  here ;  for  from  that 
strange  quietness  of  Mark's  manner  he  drew  encourage- 
ment when  he  ought  to  have  drawn  warning. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  others  can  do,"  he  said,  with  a 
certain  haughtiness,  "  but  I  am  quite  sure  that  I  can  do 
nothing.  If  I  had  any  doubt  on  the  subject,  I  should  not 
have  wanted  asking  twice." 

"  I'll  give  you  one  more  chance,"  Mark  said,  speaking 
very  low.  "Not  for  your  sake,  but  for  hers  who  lies 
yonder.  I  know  as  well  who  has  done  this  deed  as  if 
I'd  \\utched  you  drop  in  the  poison.  Don't  waste  time 
in  denial, — it  may  be  shorter  than  you  think, — but  listen 
to  me.  If  you  can  hold  out  any  certain  hope  that  what 
lias  been  done  can  be  undone, — quite  undone, — you  shall 
go  forth  from  this  house  harmless,  and  you  shall  never  be 
troubled  more  by  me  or  mine;  and,  if  you  bear  me  any 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  367 

grudge,  you  may  set  your  foot  on  my  neck  now,  if  you 
please.  Lying  won't  help  you,  for  I'll  look  into  your  eyes 
while  you  answer." 

All  his  terrors  came  back  upon  Anstruther  like  a  wave 
in  reflux;  yet  he,  too,  felt  that  lying  or  evasion  would  be 
useless,  and  he  spoke  like  those  of  old  time  whose  utter- 
ances were  not  according  to  their  own  will,  but  as  the 
Spirit  gave  it. 

"  Her  life  is  safe.     I  can  give  no  other  hope." 

Mark  breathed  long  and  deep,  as  gymnasts  do  when 
preparing  for  some  great  feat  of  strength  or  skill 

"  Then  half  my  errand  is  done.  I  came  to  seek  help 
here,  as  I  would  have  sought  it  in  hell  if  I  had  known 
the  road  there,  and  I  would  sooner  have  given  the  devil 
my  soul  than  you  your  freedom  in  exchange  ;  but  I  would 
have  given  it.  There  was  something  else,  though.  If 
there  was  no  help  to  be  wrung  from  you,  I  came — to  kill 
you !" 

Mark  Ramsay's  voice  was  a  proverbially  pleasant  one. 
There  was  nothing  jarring  or  startling  in  the  tone  of  those 
last  three  words.  If  an  actor  had  delivered  them  on  any 
stage,  the  house  would  have  murmured  justly  enough  at 
a  good  point  being  spoiled.  A  very  quiet  reading  even 
of  Hamlet  rarely  succeeds;  but  then,  you  see,  it  was  a 
singularly  select  audience  to  which  Ramsay  was  playing, 
und  ho  did  not  trouble  himself  to  study  effects.  In  sober 
truth,  there  was  the  savage  earnestness  there  that  rends  a 
passion  to  tatters  :  and  so  the  solitary  witness  interpreted 
it  as  he  sprang  up  with  a  white  terror  on  his  face,  glaring 
round  him  in  a  wild,  hopeless  way — yes,  hopeless  ;  for, 
whether  by  chance  or  design,  Ramsay  had  moved  during 
the  last  two  seconds  so  as  to  stand  directly  betwixt  the 
3ther  and  the  fireplace,  where,  putting  weapons  of  defense 
:>ut  of  the  question,  the  one  bell-rope  hung.  He  would 
have  cried  for  help,  but  his  voice  was  nearly  gone.  There 
was  little  chance  of  a  shout  bringing  timely  succor  ;  but, 
3ven  if  it  had  been  so,  there  was  manhood  enough  loft  in 
;he  old  civilian  to  make  him  loath  to  cry  aloud  for  help 
igainst  a  single  unarmed  enemy.  Indeed,  the  physical 
}dds  against  him  were  not  so  great.  He  had  the  advan- 
tage in  height  and  weight,  and  probably  in  strength,  if 


368  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

not  in  activity;  and  though  his  gaunt  frame  had  waxed 
thinner  of  late,  it  had  not  become  bent  or  emaciated,  and 
there  was  atough,  wiry  look  about  it  still.  But  there  was 
no  question  of  physique  here.  The  thirsty  eagerness  for 
the  struggle  on  one  side  was  opposed  to  shuddering  re- 
luctance on  the  other;  and  had  you  watched  the  two  you 
would  no  more  have  doubted  as  to  the  result  than  if  you 
had  watched  a  panther  crouching  for  his  spring  on  a 
buffalo. 

"  You — you  are  mad  !"  Anstruther  gasped  out.  "  Have 
you  forgotten  that — that  your  life  is  forfeit  when  you  have 
taken  mine?" 

The  other  broke  into  a  ghastly  laugh,  and  drew  ever  so 
little  nearer,  very  slowly.  It  seemed  as  though  he  saw  the 
terror  he  inspired,  and  savored  it  as  part  of  his  vengeance. 

"  Forgotten  I  No ;  I  have  forgotten  nothing.  Not  that 
what  you  have  done  is  a  hanging-matter ;  but  what  I'm 
going  to  do  is — that's  as  clear  as  day.  It's  only  a  sort  of 
suicide,  after  all,  and  it's  a  pleasanter  way  than  knotting 
one's  own  noose.  You'll  have  made  clean  work  of  it  be- 
tween you — you  and  yonder  wife  of  mine." 

A  confusion  with  which  animal  fear  had  naught  to  do 
rang  out  in  Anstruther's  cry. 

"  My  God !  Is  it  possible  you  suspect  your  wife  of  hav- 
ing art  or  part  in  this?  See,  I  speak  as  if  I  were  on  my 
death-bed.  By  all  my  hopes  of  mercy,  she's  as  innocent 
as  any  of  heaven's  angels.  Believe  me !  you  shall,  you 
shall  f" 

"I  believe  you,"  Mark  answered;  "and  she'll  have  the 
benefit  of  her  innocence,  if  that's  any  consolation  to  you.  If 
I'd  time  to  think  about  such  trifles,  perhaps  I  might  wonder 
what  has  made  you  so  zealous  to  serve  that  wife  of  mine, 
and  so  anxious  to  shield  her.  We're  past  all  that  now." 

And  even  as  he  spoke  he  drew  nearer,  and  the  hungry 
glitter  brightened  in  his  eyes. 

The  bitterness  of  death  comes  not  always  with  or  just 
before  the  death-pang,  and  those  who  tottered  and  stumbled 
at  the  entrance  of  the  Dark  Valley  have  been  known  to 
walk  steadily  enough  when  they  were  within  the  shadow. 
So  it  was  with  George  Anstruther.  Whether  it  was  the 
mere  energy  of  despair  that  sustained  him,  or  whether  a 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  369 

generous  impulse  prompting  that  last  intercession  abode 
with  him  still,  no  one  will  never  know ;  but  assuredly  he 
did  not  die  a  coward. 

"I  loved  your  wife,"  he  said,  speaking  quite  firmly  now. 
"  Does  not  that  account  for  all  ?  I  loved  her  that  day  when 
you  and  I  first  met.  I've  loved  her  since,  so  well  that  I 
repent  to-night's  work  no  more  than  if  I'd  set  my  heel 
on  an  adder  in  her  path.  I  love  her  so  well  that  I'll  save 
her,  in  spite  of  you,  from  the  shame  of  having  married  a 
felon.  You  thought  I  was  afraid  of  death.  So  I  was ;  but 
it  was  death  in  your  fashion — not  in  my  own.  Before  I 
knew  you  were  coming,  I  was  ready  with — this." 

He  had  felt  in  his  pocket  ere  this,  and  now,  with  the 
quickness  of  thought,  drew  forth  the  tiny  silver  tube  and 
crushed  it  betwixt  his  strong  white  teeth. 

With  a  spring  like  a  wild  cat's,  Mark  Ramsay  cleared 
the  distance  betwixt  them ;  but  his  fingers  gripped  a  throat 
that  never  felt  the  pressure,  and  of  the  two  bodies  that 
crashed  on  the  floor  together  the  life  was  in  only  one. 

The  fury  of  baffled  revenge  mingled  with  a  natural 
horror  in  the  survivor's  face  as  he  shook  himself  clear  of 
the  corpse  and  arose ;  but,  as  he  grew  calmer,  he  began 
to  debate  with  himself  what  was  best  to  be  done.  After 
two  or  three  minutes  spent  in  deep  thought,  he  walked 
to  the  door  and  unlocked  it,  then  rang  the  bell  twice  or 
thrice  violently.  Not  for  one  instant  while  he  waited  did 
he  avert  his  gaze,  nor  did  his  eyes  alter  their  expression 
of  hate  and  loathing.  Two  or  three  servants  came  hurry- 
ing up,  Prescott  the  foremost.  It  was  to  this  man  Ramsay 
addressed  himself. 

"Your  master  has  taken  poison.  He  took  it  too  sud- 
denly for  me  to  stop  him ;  though,  of  course,  I  tried.  He 
did  it  to  save  himself  from  being  arrested  for  the  crime 
committed  here  to-night." 

The  valet  was  too  utterly  prostrated  by  the  annihila- 
tion of  his  golden  dreams  to  do  other  than  repeat,  help- 
lessly, "Poisoned  himself!" 

"  There  is  no  doubt  about  it,"  Mark  replied.  "  There 
will  be  an  inquest,  I  suppose;  and  it  will  be  well  for  you, 
and  you,  and  you"  (he  glanced  from  one  to  the  other  of 
the  servants  as  he  spoke)  "to  take  notice  of  this.1" 

Y 


370  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

Shuddering  and  shrinking,  they  followed  the  direction 
of  his  finger:  it  pointed  to  the  silver  tube  still  crushed 
between  the  clinched  teeth.  All  human  help  was  so 
palpably  hopeless  that  no  one  thought  of  rendering  it ; 
and  each  followed  Ramsay  out  of  the  room  in  silence. 

"  Speak  about  this  as  little  as  can  be  helped,  or,  at  any 
rate,  speak  low.  Keep  this  door  locked  till  the  doctor 
comes,"  Mark  said  to  Prescott.  "He  can  go  in,  if  he 
likes,  after  he  has  visited  Miss  Irving."  And  so  he  walked 
slowly  away — whither,  you  will  presently  see. 

"  What  a  big  dashed  fool  I  was  to  trust  him  1"  the  valet 
muttered  to  himself,  disconsolately.  This,  setting  aside 
a  few  exclamations  of  wonderment  among  his  acquaint- 
ance when  the  news  was  bruited  at  the  Orion,  and  the 
self-congratulation  of  the  civilian  who  succeeded  to  his 
pension,  was  the  only  funeral  oration  pronounced  over  a 
man  who,  in  his  time,  had  filled  high  places  with  honor; 
whose  word  was  as  his  bond,  and  whom  Walter  Ellerslie 
trusted  like  a  brother;  who,  if  not  a  model  of  Christianity, 
had  seldom  willfully  or  wittingly  broken  one  of  God's 
laws  or  injured  one  of  God's  creatures,  till  the  night  when, 
having  sinned  heavily  in  both  wise,  he  died  unrepentant. 

"Finis  coronal  opus" 

The  dullest  schoolboy  has  that  by  heart  before  he 
has  got  half  through  his  rudiments;  but  sometimes  wise 
elders  will  be  very  near  the  End  before  they  are  assured 
whether  the  Crown,  will  be  one  of  shame  or  of  glory. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  371 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

IT  was,  in  truth,  only  a  fainting-fit  into  which  Blanche 
had  fallen  awhile  ago,  but  it  lasted  long;  and,  when  she 
partially  recovered  her  senses,  she  seemed  to  be  wander- 
ing. Her  first  intelligible  words  signified  a  wish  to  be 
left  alone  again  with  Laura  Brancepeth:  so  the  maid 
was  dismissed,  and  betook  herself  to  wait  in  the  sleeping- 
chamber  till  she  should  be  required. 

"Now,  you  mustn't  excite  yourself,  dear,"  La  Reine 
said,  with  authority.  "And,  whatever  you  do,  lie  still 
for  the  present." 

"Lie  still!"  Blanche  moaned.  " How  is  it  possible ? 
Oh,  Laura,  if  you  knew!  if  you  knew!'' 

"Well,  but  I  do  know,"  the  other  retorted,  in  her  im- 
petuous way.  "  It's  not  hard  to  guess  that  your  hus- 
band's furious  at  what  has  happened  to-night,  and  came 
to  vent  his  wrath  on  you.  That's  so  like  a  man,  and 
especially  like  a  husband:  even  Henry  does  it,  sometimes, 
— though  he's  rather  afraid  of  me.  He  didn't  say  it  was 
your  fault,  I  suppose  ?" 

"No,"  Blanche  murmured.  "  He  didn't  say  it  was  my 
fault;  though  he  said  many  cruel  words — such  as  I  could 
never  forget,  even  if  I  forgave  them.  But,  Queenie,  he 
suspects  the  same  person  as  I  did ;  and  I  think  he's  gone 
there  now.  What  will  happen  to  us  all?" 

La  Reine  looked  somewhat  blank  at  this,  though  she 
made  shift'to  answer,  carelessly, — 

"  Happen  to  us !  Nothing  worse  than  has  happened 
already,  you  may  depend  upon  it.  Mark  knows  better 
than  to  bring  such  a  charge  against  one  of  his  guests  on 
mere  suspicion ;  and  more  than  suspicion  there  could  not 
be.  If  he  were  mad  enough  to  do  such  a  thing,  Mr. 
Anstruther  would  not  condescend  to  plead  guilty  or  not 
guilty,  but  would  leave  the  house  at  once.  It's  the  only 
thing  he  could  do.  Every  one  will  be  going  to-morrow, 


372  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

as  it  is,  I  should  think,  except  ine.  Of  course  I  shall 
stay  till  I  take  you  South." 

Her  assumed  cheerfulness  had  small  effect.  It  could 
not  bring  back  the  light  on  Blanche's  face,  nor  still  the 
tremors  that  shook  her  almost  incessantly. 

"  You  don't  know  Mark,"  she  panted.  "  I  never  knew 
him  myself,  before  to-night.  I  wish — yes,  I  do  wish — 
that  I  had  died  yesterday.  No,  I'm  not  wandering, 
Queenie — nor  dreaming,  ff  one  could  only  wake  and 
find  all  this  a  dream!  I  feel  that  some  worse  horror 
will  happen  yet,  and  it  will  be  all — all  through  me." 

Laura  Brancepeth's  wits  were  good,  strong,  serviceable 
ones,  not  easily  to  be  scattered,  but  they  were  getting 
into  sore  confusion.  It  was  useless  to  argue  with  Blanche 
in  her  present  state  ;  and  yet,  if  she  could  not  be  pacified, 
serious  harm  must  needs  ensue. 

"What  can  I  do,  dear?"  she  said,  half  despairingly. 
"  Shall  I  call  in  Wright  to  take  care  of  you,  and  go  and 
find  Mark  myself  and  bring  him  here  ?  Anything  would 
be  better  than  your  torturing  yourself  so." 

For  the  first  time  since  her  swoon,  Blanche  opened  her 
eyes  and  fixed  them  upon  her  friend  eagerly. 

"  Ah  I  if  you  could  do  this,  Queenie, — if — if  you  were 
not  afraid" — 

"Afraid  1"  Laura  retorted,  m  supreme  scorn.  But  her 
dauntlessness  was  not  put  to  the  proof,  at  least  in  the  way 
she  had  intended ;  for,  as  she  rose  up  to  call  in  the  maid 
from  the  adjoining  chamber,  the  door  of  the  dressing-room 
opened,  and  Ramsay  entered  once  more. 

It  was  recorded,  long  ago,  that  the  best  point  in  Mark's 
rare  personal  beauty  was  the  soft  richness  of  his  coloring. 
This  would  certainly  have  never  been  noticed  now ;  for 
the  color  seemed  to  have  faded  in  some  strange  way  out 
of  his  eyes  and  lips,  and  the  clear  olive  cheeks  looked 
sickly  and  wan.  The  malignant  lowering  was  no  longer 
on  his  face ;  he  only  looked  intensely  weary.  He  did 
not  speak  till  he  came  quite  close  to  the  two  women,  and 
then  it  was  in  a  subdued  tone. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  disturb  you  again  to-night,  but  I 
have  no  choice.  Something  has  happened  since  I  saw  you 
last." 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  3f3 

La  Reine  had  risen,  and  stood  betwixt  husband  and 
wife,  holding  Blanche's  hand  fast,  as  though  she  would 
have  shielded  her  from  some  bodily  harm. 

"  Good  heavens !  what  is  it  ?"  she  cried  out,  angrily. 
"  Surely  we  have  no  fresh  disaster  to  hear  of!" 

"  Why  not?"  Mark  answered,  still  in  the  same  slow, 
deliberate  voice.  "  Would  you  call  it  a  disaster  if  the 
author  of  all  this  crime  had  been  discovered  and  made  a 
confession?" 

Laura's  hand  was  wrung  till  she  could  scarcely  bear 
the  pressure,  as  Blanche  started  almost  upright  with  a 
piteous  wail. 

"Mark!  Mark!     You  will — you  will — have  mercy." 

He  never  blenched  before  that  agony :  indeed,  you 
might  have  fancied  there  hovered  round  his  lips  the 
shadow  of  a  smile. 

"Are  you  interceding  for  George  Anstruther?  You 
may  spare  your  breath.  A  priest's  prayers  might  help 
him  now,  if  priests  can  help  the  dead." 

Cruel  as  this  man  was  by  nature — tenfold  crueler  now 
in  the  bitterness  of  half-slaked  revenge — I  believe  had  he 
guessed  at  the  effect  of  his  words  he  would  no  more  have 
uttered  them  in  that  shape  than  he  would  have  driven  a 
knife  straight  to  his  wife's  heart  then  and  there.  Had  he 
done  so,  it  would  scarce  have  been  quicker  work. 

While  the  last  syllable  lingered  on  his  lips,  Blanche 
stood  upright  upon  her  feet,  clasping  both  hands  tightly 
on  her  side,  staring  at  him  with  wild,  haggard  eyes.  And 
then  a  change — other  than  he  had  seen  there  lately — 
such  a  change  as  can  come  but  once  on  any  human  face 
— swept  across  hers,  and  she  sank  back  on  her  couch  with 
a  long,  gasping  sob.  Her  hands  dropped  idly  down,  and 
she  lay  quite  still. 

The  kind  old  physician's  prophecy  had  come  true, 
though  not  in  the  sense  in  which  it  was  spoken,  and 
sooner  than  he  had  reckoned  on.  It  was  well  with 
Blanche  Ramsay  at  last. 

What  passed  during  the  next  quarter  of  an  hour  that 
ensued,  Laura  Brancepeth  could  never  distinctly  recall. 
Perhaps  she  did  not  care  to  tax  her  memory  too  closely. 
She  had  a  hazy  impression  of  having  poured  forth  a  tor 

32 


3f4  BREAKING   A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

rent  of  upbraiding,  and  of  Mark's  having  listened,  gazing 
at  her  always  in  the  same  dreamy  way,  as  though  her 
bitterest  words  stung  him  neither  to  remorse  nor  anger. 
He  must  have  made  her  understand,  somehow,  that  how- 
soever accountable  he  might  be  for  the  shortening  of  the 
frail  life  just  ended,  George  Anstruther's  blood  was  not 
actually  on  his  head ;  but  how  he  did  this  she  could  never 
recollect.  She  remembered  the  maid's  rushing  in  and 
out  again  into  the  corridor  to  seek  for  help,  and  she  re- 
membered how  a  certain  relief  mingled  with  her  terrors 
when  she  found  herself  watching  the  corpse  alone. 

When  Laura  Braucepeth  shall  come  to  that  hour 
when,  for  her  soul's  sake,  it  will  behoove  her  to  be  in 
charity  with  all  men,  one  name  assuredly  will  be  ex- 
cepted  from  the  amnesty.  Yet  perhaps  it  is  well  ehe 
never  knew  that  Mark  Ramsay  went  straight  from  her 
presence  to  that  of  Alice's  father. 

To  give  Irving  his  due,  no  disaster  of  his  own  would 
have  brought  such  dejection  on  his  face  as  possessed  it 
while  he  sat  brooding  over  that  which  had  befallen  his 
daughter;  but  natures  such  as  his  are  more  often  hard- 
ened than  softened  by  any  great  sorrow,  and,  as  he  looked 
up  and  saw  who  it  was  that  entered,  his  brow  contracted 
gloomily.  If  he  did  not  hold  Mark  to  a  certain  degree 
accountable,  as  it  were  in  the  second  degree,  for  Alice's 
calamity,  it  had  at  all  events  occurred  under  his  roof; 
and  this  was  quite  sufficient  to  make  the  sight  of  him 
very  unwelcome  just  now. 

"The  doctor  has  come,  of  course?"  Irving  inquired, 
with  something  in  his  tone  which  signified  that  without 
some  such  excuse  the  intrusion  was  unwarrantable. 

"No,  he  has  not  come  yet,"  Mark  replied;  "but  it 
was  needful  I  should  see  you  at  once.  You  asked  me, 
an  hour  ago,  if  I  could  give  no  guess  as  to  the  meaning 
or  author  of  the  devilish  work  yonder.  I  could  guess  at 
neither  then;  but  both  are  known  to  me  now.  That's 
what  I've  come  to  tell  you.  Be  patient  a  minute,"  he 
went  on,  as  Irving  rose  up  with  such  a  fell  menace  on 
his  face  as  would  be  hard  to  describe.  "  I  must  say  out 
my  say,  once  for  all.  I'm  not  going  to  deny  that  the 
scandal-mongers  might  have  found  fault  with  my  in- 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  375 

timacy  with  Alice ;  and  I'm  not  going  to  prove  to  you 
that  it  was  innocent,  at  this  time  of  day.  If  you  had 
thought  otherwise,  I  should  have  heard  of  it  long  ago. 
It's  sufficient  to  know  that  some  people  looked  on  Alice 
as  my  wife's  worst  enemy,  and  that  this  thought  was 
uppermost  in  George  Austruther's  mind  when  he  mixed 
his  poison  to-night." 

"  You  know  all  this,"  the  father  said,  in  a  savage  whis- 
per, "  and  you  mean  to  hold  your  hand  and  to  ask  me  to 
hold  mine  ?" 

"What  would  you  do  ?"  said  Mark  Ramsay,  drearily. 
"They  are  both  dead." 

Irving  staggered  a  full  pace  backward,  with  a  dreadful 
question  in  his  eyes  that  to  save  his  life  he  could  not 
then  have  put  into  words.  Once  again  the  other  laughed 
in  that  same  ghastly  fashion  as  he  had  done  in  Anstruth- 
er's  chamber. 

"  You  think  I  killed  them.  I  don't  wonder.  Well,  I 
went  to  kill  him;  but — curse  him! — he  was  too  quick 
for  me.  And  she  died  five  minutes  ago,  in  a  heart- 
spasm." 

"  Tell  me  more,"  Irving  said,  under  his  breath.  The 
first  horror  had  left  him,  and  all  the  pity  he  had  to  spare 
was  engrossed  by  his  own  daughter.  Nevertheless,  it 
was  with  an  awe  such  as  he  had  never  known  that  he 
listened  to  the  brief  story  of  what  you  have  just  read, — 
such  an  awe  as  the  flintiest-hearted  skeptics  have  felt 
when  the  air  around  them  was  heavy  with  death.  But 
always  in  his  mind  the  thought  was  uppermost  of  how 
on  the  first  hour  of  their  meeting  he  had  conceived  a 
vague  dislike  aud  apprehension  of  George  Anstruther, 
and  how  in  his  own  folly  he  had  thought,  "  He  cannot 
harm  me  and  mine." 

Moreover,  though  he  himself  would  have  scoffed  at 
the  idea,  or  at  the  most  would  only  have  admitted  fatal- 
ity, he  was  overborne  by  a  strong  sense  of  helplessness, 
by  a  consciousness  that  all  the  rough-hewn  ends  had  been 
shaped  by  other  hands  than  those  that  first  fashioned 
them — perchance  by  the  hands  of  Him  who  said,  so 
many  ages  ago,  "  Vengeance  is  mine."  There  is  a  weak 
point  in  almo.st  all  infidelities ;  and  many,  before  their 


3Y6  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

atheism  was  put  to  the  last  crucial  test,  have  cried  in 
their  hearts,  if  not  aloud,  Vicisti,  Oalilsee! 

And  what  were  Alice  Irving's  thoughts,  when  she 
heard  how  swiftly  and  completely  she  was  avenged  ?  It 
was  one  of  her  attendants  brought  the  news.  The  woman 
was  too  frightened  to  speak  coherently;  but  Alice  divined 
all  the  tragedy  as  completely  as  if  it  had  been  enacted 
before  her  eyes.  The  cruel  calculation  had  been  right  to 
the  letter.  Her  life  had  outlasted — perhaps  was  likely 
far  to  outlast — her  rival's ;  and  what  did  that  profit  her  ? 
She  knew,  not  less  surely  than  if  a  hundred  surgeons 
had  sentenced  her,  that  her  beauty  was  marred,  not  for 
a  season,  but  for  evermore.  She  knew,  not  less  surely 
than  if  his  own  lips  had  uttered  the  bitter  words,  that 
henceforth  pity  was  the  uttermost  she  could  expect  from 
Mark  Ramsay.  Though  his  love,  in  spite  of  the  guilt 
that  loaded  it,  had  been  so  precious  to  her,  she  had  always 
recognized  it  as  a  passion  strong  chiefly  in  its  sensuous- 
ness,  and  one  that  would  prove  weak  and  unstable  as 
water  under  such  a  trial  as  this.  There  was  the  stale 
formula  of  consolation: — they  might  be  friends  still. 
Friends  1  Alice  almost  gnashed  her  teeth  as  she  thought 
what  a  horrible  hypocrisy  such  a  pretense  would  be  be- 
twixt herself  and  the  man  who  that  day  had  kissed  her 
brow.  Amidst  all  those  burning  pains,  she  felt  the  print 
of  his  lips. 


CHAPTER    XLIV. 

THE  smoking-room  lay  at  the  extreme  end  of  one  of 
the  wings  of  the  castle,  and  it  was  too  remote  for  many 
sounds  from  the  other  parts  of  the  house  to  penetrate 
there — unless  it  were  such  a  cry  as  had  startled  the  occu- 
pants an  hour  ago.  The  servants  who  were  cognizant 
of  Anstruther's  death  obeyed  orders,  and  discussed  it 
among  themselves.  Neither  of  this  nor  of  the  other 
tragedy  were  Alsager  and  Gauntlet  made  aware,  till  the 
door  opened  and  Ramsay  appeared.  There  were  no  signs 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  377 

of  passion  on  his  face,  nor  any  marked  signs  of  pain — only 
that  weary  look  of  exhaustion.  And  yet  both  guessed, 
before  he  spoke  a  word,  that  he  had  blacker  news  to  tell 
than  any  they  had  already  listened  to. 

"  Is  she  much  worse  ?"  Alsager  asked. 

"  You  mean  Alice  Irving?"  Mark  replied,  after  he  had 
filled  and  drained  a  great  goblet  of  iced  water.  "  Not  that 
I  know  of.  When  last  I  heard  of  her,  she  was  in  rather 
less  pain.  But  I  have  heavy  news  for  you.  Anstruther 
has  committed  suicide,  after  confessing  himself  the  cause 
of  yonder  disfigurement.  I  was  present,  but  not  near 
enough  to  prevent  him.  The  poison  did  its  work  quicker 
than  a  bullet.  There!  you  needn't  waste  pity  on  such  a 
hound  as  that.  There's  worse  behind.  Not  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  ago,  I  broke  the  news  to  Blanche  as  cautiously 
as  I  could,  and — Lady  Laura  was  there  with  her — her 
fright  brought  on  a  spasm  of  the  heart,  and  she  died 
almost  instantaneouslv. " 

"Dead!" 

The  word  broke  from  the  lips  of  both ;  but  in  the  one 
case  there  was  only  the  shock  of  surprise;  in  the  other 
there  was  the  climax  of  a  strong  heart-agony.  As  Gaunt- 
let covered  his  face  with  his  hand,  he  groaned  aloud. 

During  the  minutes  that  ensued,  there  was  waged  in 
Oswald's  breast  such  a  struggle  as  must  need  leave  traces 
long  after  it  is  ended.  He  was  beset  by  a  fiercer  tempta- 
tion than  he  had  ever  yet  passed  through;  and,  though 
he  mastered  it  at  last,  the  wrestle  was  sore.  Perhaps 
you  cannot  guess  at  the  nature  of  the  temptation.  It  was 
no  other  than  a  longing  to  add  another  rrime  to  the  cata- 
logue of  that  night, — black  enough  already, — if  indeed  it 
were  a  crime  to  grapple  Mark  Ramsay's  throat,  as  he 
would  have  done  any  felon's,  and  to  require  of  him  life  for 
life.  For  then  assuredly — even  if  he  grew  more  chari- 
table in  the  after-time — he  held  this  man  no  less  account- 
able for  the  death  of  the  woman  that  he,  Oswald  Gauntlet, 
had  loved  so  dearly,  than  if  the  murder  had  been  wrought 
by  a  downright  brutal  blow.  It  was  because  he  loved 
her  so  dearly  that  he  restrained  himself.  If  Blanche's 
name  must  needs  be  mixed  up  in  this  sorrowful  and 
shameful  storv,  it  was  not  for  him  to  add  thereunto  an- 

32* 


378  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

other  ghastly  chapter.  Had  she  been  living  still,  her  thin, 
wan  hand  would  have  been  surely  raised  to  warn  him 
from  reprisals,  and  he  would  surely  have  obeyed  the 
beckon :  so — now  as  then — let  her  have  her  will.  But, 
albeit  he  prevailed  in  wrestle  over  the  devil  that  fought 
savagely  within  him,  he  prevailed  not  so  far  as  to  endure 
Mark's  presence.  When  he  rose  up,  it  was  with  averted 
face,  and  their  eyes  never  met,  as  he  walked  out  silently 
and  swiftly. 

For  months  past  he  had  seen  the  end  coming  nearer 
and  nearer,  and  he  had  known  that  nothing  short  of  a 
miracle  could  avert  or,  perhaps,  much  delay  it;  and,  now 
that  it  had  come,  it  seemed  to  him  like  some  hideous 
nightmare.  He  could  not  realize  at  first  that  the  delicate 
mobile  lips,  whose  smile  when  it  lost  its  mirth  did  not 
lose  its  pleasantness,  were  now  still  and  set,  or  that  the  ^ 
eyes  which  had  never  looked  on  him  unkindly  were  luster-' 
less  and  dim,  or  that  the  voice  which  when  he  last  heard 
it  had  stirred  his  pulse  not  less  powerfully  than  in  the 
old  days  was  dumb  for  evermore.  But,  as  he  began  to 
realize  all  this,  there  began  a  struggle  in  this  man's 
breast,  and  he  was  beset  by  a  temptation  the  like  of 
which  he  had  never  encountered. 

And  the  other  two  kept  silence  likewise  for  a  full  minute 
after  the  door  had  closed  behind  Gauntlet,  till  Ramsay 
broke  it  impatiently. 

"What  are  you  thinking  of?  I'd  rather  hear  you 
speak  than  watch  you  stare." 

"  Is  it  worth  while  to  ask  ?"  the  other  said,  bitterly.  "  If 
my  thoughts  ever  mattered  much,  it's  rather  late  in  the  day 
to  ask  for  them.  Besides,  if  I  were  to  tell  you,  it  might 
only  breed  a  quarrel ;  and,  somehow,  I  don't  feel  up  to  that. 
We  had  best  let  ill  alone.  After  all,  I've  no  right  to  judge 
you." 

"  I  understand.  You'll  write  down  every  item  of  what 
has  happened  here  to  my  account.  You  are  not  unjust, 
I  dare  say." 

There  was  a  helpless  depression  in  his  manner  that 
moved  the  other  to  answer  less  harshly. 

"I  don't  know  that.  The  fatalists — I'm  more  than 
half  a  fatalist — would  say  you  were  only  an  instrument. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  379 

If  it  is  so,  I  am  selfish  enough  to  be  glad  you  were  picked 
out  instead  of  me.  Mark,  I'd  have  changed  places  with 
you  pretty  often  within  the  last  two  years.  I  wouldn't 
do  that  to-night ;  and  I  wish  the  night  was  over,  with  all 
my  heart  and  soul." 

"Do  you  think  to-morrow  will  be  any  better?"  Mark 
asked,  wearily,  "or  the  next  day,  or  the  next?  Do  you 
remember  what  I  said  when  we  talked  it  over  in  my 
chambers  ?  We  have  '  dreed  our  weird'  with  a  vengeance. 

"You've  never  asked  me  how  it  all  happened.  I'd 
rather  tell  you  at  once  and  get  it  over;  though  I've  told 
it  once  already." 

As  Alsageu  listened  to  much  the  same  story  as  Irving 
had  heard  but  now,  it  was  evident  that  his  interest  in  the 
first  catastrophe  did  not  go  beyond  wonder  and  curiosity. 
He  was  not  in  the  habit  of  scattering  his  sympathy  broad- 
cast ;  and  George  Anstruther's  suicide  moved  him  very 
little  more  than  if  he  had  read  it  in  the  public  prints. 

"That  was  a  devilish  narrow  escape  of  yours,"  he  re- 
marked, coolly,  when  he  heard  how  Mark's  murderous 
intent  had  been  anticipated.  "  It  was  a  very  natural  im- 
pulse, I'll  allow ;  but  at  our  time  of  life  we  ought  to  have 
got  beyond  such  things ;  and  so  you'd  have  thought 
when  you  found  yourself  in  the  dock.  I  doubt  if  they'd 
have  brought  it  in  even  manslaughter,  unless  Nevis  had 
tried  you.  It's  very  odd  I  should  have  always  suspected 
him  ;  and  I  told  Gauntlet  so.  He  wouldn't  have  it  at 
first.  I  wonder  what  he  thinks  of  it  now  ? — or  of  anything 
else,  for  that  matter  ?  I  never  saw  any  man  more  thor- 
oughly knocked  out  of  time.  Go  on  now:  it's  no  use 
halting  when  you've  got  so  far." 

But  as  Alsager  listened  to  the  details,  still  more  brief, 
of  the  second  calamity,  the  hard  cynicism  vanished  from 
his  face,  and  when  all  was  told  be  drew  a  long  breath 
very  like  a  sigh. 

"If  it  was  over  so  quickly,  she  couldn't  have  suffered 
much,"  he  said.  "  I'm  glad  of  that, — poor  thing !  She'd 
had  her  share  of  it  before.  That  was  the  time  to  pity 
her ;  and  1  did,  and  told  you  so.  It's  absurd  to  pity  her 
now.  Do  you  know,  Mark,  I  believe  in  many  more  things 
than  people  give  me  credit  for?  and  I  like  to  fancy  that 


380  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

she'll  find  a  pleasant  berth  somewhere, — a  real  pleasant 
one, — such  a  long  way  off  from  yours  or  mine.  Well, 
heart-complaints  are  curious  things.  Hers  might  have 
killed  her  without  any  meddling  of  yours.  Perhaps  that's 
the  best  way  of  looking  at  it." 

The  other  shook  his  head,  as  though  putting  aside  the 
crumb  of  comfort,  if  it  was  so  meant.  He  made  no  an- 
swer, and  then  again  silence  ensued.  At  last  said  Alsa- 
ger,  abruptly, — 

"  What  do  you  wish  every  one  to  do  ?  I  don't  think 
Lady  Laura  will  move  before  the — the  funeral ;  and  I'll 
stay  too,  if  I  can  help  you  Whatever  you've  done  or  left 
undone,  you've  stood  by  me  pretty  stanchly  since  that 
morning  in  Florence;  and  I'll  stand  by  you  now,  even  if 
we  cry  '  quits'  after  this." 

Seldom — perhaps  never — had  any  of  his  own  sex  seen 
such  an  eager,  beseeching  look  in  Mark  Ramsay's  eyes 
as  glistened  in  them  then. 

"  For  God's  sake,  don't  go,"  he  muttered,  hurriedly ; 
"  I'm  so  nearly  beat  as  it  is;  much  more  than  I  was  after 
that  jungle-fever.  I  rather  prided  myself  on  my  nerve. 
I  shall  never  do  that  again." 

"  That's  settled,  then,"  the  other  answered,  with  his 
wonted  composure.  "I  stay.  And  now, — how  about 
the  Irvings  ?" 

Mark  started,  just  as  he  had  done  once  before  when 
Alsager  set  a  chord  in  his  musings  tingling,  and  from 
just  the  same  cause.  Amidst  all  the  turmoil  through 
which  he  had  lately  passed,  be  sure  he  had  found  time  to 
ask  of  himself  that  question  more  than  once.  Alice  had 
judged  very  accurately  the  length  and  breadth  and  depth 
of  his  love.  No  more  life  lingered  in  it  now  than  was  in 
the  dead  corpse  of  his  wife  up-stairs.  It  was  but  the 
spectral  semblance  of  love  that  he  had  to  face  now  and 
henceforth.  A  man  of  his  temperament  had  better  ten- 
fold be  haunted  by  any  "dull,  mechanic  ghost"  than  by 
such  a  one  as  this.  He  had  not  yet  confessed  as  much  to 
himself,  and  he  certainly  was  not  prepared  to  confess  it 
to  even  such  an  old  friend  as  Alsager.  Nevertheless,  he 
shifted  his  posture  uneasily,  as  he  answered, — 

"  The  Irvings  ?     They  must  stay  here  for  the  present, 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  381 

of  course.  She  could  not  possibly  be  moved  in  her  pres- 
ent state ;  though,  if  the  dead  dog  yonder  did  not  lie,  her 
life  is  not  in  danger." 

"They  must  remain  here  for  the  present,  naturally," 
Vere  persisted ;  "  but  afterwards  ?" 

Vere  had  not  any  intention  of  tormenting ;  but  compas- 
sion for  Blanche  Ramsay  was  still  strong  enough  within 
him  to  make  him  behold  with  some  satisfaction  the  other's 
embarrassment. 

"Afterwards !"  Mark  retorted,  angrily.  "  Didn't  I  tell 
you  my  nerve  was  gone  for  the  moment  ?" 

It  was  a  relief  to  one  of  those  two  when,  at  last,  a  ser- 
vant came  into  that  room  to  say  that  the  doctor  had  ar- 
rived. 

Mr.  Brancepeth  was  one  of  those  whose  very  exist- 
ence, in  times  of  great  emergency,  their  fellows  are  apt 
to  ignore. 

No  one,  from  first  to  last,  had  thought  of  rousing  him ; 
but  he  was  waked  from  a  placid  and  not  unstertorous 
slumber  by  a  light  touch  on  his  shoulder  and  by  a  warm 
drop  falling  on  his  brow.  Without  being  intrepid,  he 
was  a  very  self-possessed  person:  nevertheless,  during 
his  first  waking  moments  he  felt  a  slight  tremor,  as  he 
doubted  whether  he  saw  a  vision  or  no.  That  white, 
tear-stained  face  ought  rather  to  have  belonged  to  the 
Brown  Ladye  who  was  said  to  walk  at  Kenlis,  than  to 
his  gay,  daring  wife.  But  it  was  Laura,  and  no  other, 
who  stood  sobbing  there,  so  utterly  broken  down  that  it 
was  some  time  before  she  could  give  any  rational  account 
to  her  husband  of  what  had  happened.  To  say  that 
Brancepeth  was  panic-stricken  only  faintly  expresses  the 
state  of  mind  in  which  he  was  thrown.  It  was  not  only 
the  intrinsic  horror  of  the  events  themselves  that  affected 
him  so  strongly.  If  they  had  occurred  in  a  sphere  of  life 
removed  from  his  own,  and  they  had  been  brought  before 
him  in  his  official  capacity,  he  would  have  looked  into 
them  with  magisterial  calmness ;  but  their  having  been 
enacted  not  only  under  his  very  eyes — though  those  eyes 
chanced  to  be  closed — and  all  the  actors  and  sufferers 
therein  being  his  own  intimate  acquaintance,  if  not  fa- 
miliar friends,  seemed  to  him  to  involve  such  an  awful 


382  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

incongruity,  that  for  the  moment  he  was  fairly  unhinged, 
and  was  almost  as  incoherent  in  his  questions  as  Laura 
was  in  her  answers. 

Now,  it  is  possible  that  some  who  read  these  pages  may 
partly  indorse  the  opinion  of  Mr.  Brancepeth,  and  consider 
such  passions  and  calamities  as  have  been  just  narrated 
well  suited  to  mediaeval  melodrama,  but  singularly  im- 
probable in  a  modern  country-house  inhabited  entirely 
by  members  of  the  upper  ten  thousand. 

The  objection  does  not  sound  hypercritical;  yet,  when 
there  is  fever  or  venom  in  the  blood,  it  matters  but  little* 
whether  its  color  as  it  ran  in  health  was  imperial  purple 
or  murky  red.  Furthermore,  I  will  make  bold  to  suggest 
that  we  are  in  no  material  respects  much  politer  than  our 
nearest  neighbors  beyond  seas,  and  that,  before  all  things 
went  awry,  Choiseul-Praslin-had  no  mean  rank  among 
the  ancient  names  of  France,  and  that  the  tragedy  where- 
with Europe  rang  from  west  to  east  was  wrought  just 
twenty-two  years  ago. 

A  very  heavy  heart  that  night  was  Laura  Brance- 
peth's;  but  it  would  have  been  heavier  far  if  the  last 
thought  on  her  mind,  before  she  sank  into  a  feverish  sleep 
of  utter  exhaustion,  had  not  been  that,  prosy  and  precise, 
and  grotesque  in  some  points,  as  he  might  be,  it  was  an 
honest,  honorable  man,  at  least,  that  lay  beside  her.  Ay ! 
and,  with  all  her  recklessness,  she  had  never  said  or  done 
aught  that  need  shame  him. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  383 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

THE  doctor  who  had  been  summoned  to  Kenlis  was  a 
favorable  specimen  of  a  country  practitioner,  and,  when 
he  was  walking  the  hospitals,  had  been  rather  celebrated 
for  nerve  and  cleverness  in  the  accident-ward ;  but  the 
case  he  had  now  to  deal  with  was  far  beyond  his  skill, 
and,  though,  after  hearing  the  nature  of  the  calamity,  he 
had  come  provided  with  divers  lenitives  and  emollients, 
he  could  only  succeed  in  mitigating  the  torture  she  was 
still  enduring.  With  respect  to  a  permanent  cure  he  could 
hold  out  little  more  comfort  than  Anstruther  had  given. 
Those  fearful  seams  and  scars  were  surely  indelible ;  and, 
even  though  the  sight  might  be  saved,  there  was  little 
chance  that  the  deep-set  gray  eyes  would  ever  regain 
their  lustrous  softness.  As  a  matter  of  form,  without 
the  faintest  idea  of  being  useful,  he  visited  the  scenes  of 
both  the  other  catastrophes.  He  was  tolerably  callous 
both  from  habit  and  temperament ;  but  it  was  not  with- 
out a  certain  emotion  that  he  laid  down  Blanche  Ram- 
say's hand  after  searching  for  a  pulse  in  vain,  and  it  was 
not  without  a  certain  relief  that  he  closed  the  door  again 
on  the  corpse  of  the  suicide. 

Few  in  Kenlis  Castle,  either  gentle  or  simple,  closed 
their  eyes  that  night  in  more  than  brief,  broken  sleep; 
and  all  were  glad  to  see  day  break,  though  it  broke  but 
gloomily. 

Laura  Brancepeth  was  up  and  dressed  betimes.  It  was 
not  that  she  had  anything  special  to  do,  but  when  once 
awake  she  could  not  bear  to  lie  still.  She  did  not  think 
of  leaving  her  room,  and  had  just  been  trying  to  swallow 
some  slight  refreshment,  when  her  husband,  who  had  risen 
still  earlier,  came  in. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  disturb  you.  but  Major  Gauntlet  is 
so  very  anxious  to  see  you,  I  could  not  refuse  to  ask 
whether  you  were  equal  to  it.  If  you  are,  I  do  think  it 
would  be  a  kindness." 


384  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

"  Certainly  I  will,"  she  said;  "  and  I  ain  not  a  bit  sur- 
prised at  his  wishing  to  see  me." 

Mr.  Brancepeth  bent  his  head  in  acknowledgment,  and 
withdrew. 

A  few  minutes  afterward,  Gauntlet  entered  alone.  His 
face  was  very  pale,  but  perfectly  composed,  as  were  his 
voice  and  manner. 

"  You  will  guess  that  I  should  not  have  intruded  on 
you  at  such  a  time  without  a  purpose.  I  have  come  to  ask 
of  you  a  great  kindness  :  I  do  not  think  you  will  refuse 
it ;  though  if  you  should  do  so  I  shall  not  take  it  in  ill 
part.  .  Before  I  leave  this  place — and  I  do  so  within  the 
hour — I  should  like  to  see  her  just  once;  and  I  want  you 
to  go  with  me  as  far  as  the  door.  Wait:  don't  decide 
till  you  have  listened  a  minute  longer.  If  I  had  ever 
spoken  one  word  to  her  who  is  an  angel  now,  that  could 
shame  her  where  she  is  gone,  either  in  jest  or  seriously, 
I  would  not  ask  you  this.  Ahl  I  see  you  believe  me 
without  an  oath ;  but,  if  I  swore  it  on  my  death-bed,  per- 
haps the  world  would  only  half  believe.  What  has  hap- 
pened here  will  be  more  than  a  nine-days'  wonder,  and  the 
scandal-mongers  won't  leave  a  blank  in  their  romance,  if 
they  can  help  it.  I  would  not  have  one  stone  to  be  cast 
at  her  on  my  account.  They  may  say  I  loved  her, — so  I 
did:  God  alone  knows  how  dearly, — but  they  can  hardly 
say  that  I  meant  dishonor,  if  my  last  visit  to  her  is  sanc- 
tioned by  the  brave,  kind  woman  who  was  her  nearest 
friend." 

The  earnestness  with  which  they  were  uttered  made 
the  simple  words  almost  eloquent,  and  Laura  Brancepeth 's 
heart  glowed  as  she  held  out  her  hand  frankly. 

"  I  do  believe  you;  and  I  never  hesitated  even  from  the 
first,  though  I  ain  glad  you  spoke  to  the  end.  I  will  come 
with  you  at  once." 

So  those  two  went  together,  treading  softly,  though  on 
the  thick  carpet  their  steps  made  no  echo,  to  the  door  of 
the  chamber  where  the  remains  of  Blanche  Ramsay  lay  ; 
and  Laura  stood  and  watched  without,  while  the  other 
went  in,  closing  the  door  behind  him.  Through  that  door 
it  is  not  needful  we  should  follow. 

Many  years  ago,  walking  after  nightfall  through  the 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLfE'S  ENDING.  385 

streets  of  a  town  in  Northern  Italy,  I  came  upon  an  open 
porch,  through  which  poured  a  flood  of  light  from  many 
tapers.  On  a  couch  just  within,  in  an  attitude  not  of 
death,  but  of  sleep, — for  the  head  was  propped  up  by  a 
silken  pillow, — lay  a  corpse — the  corpse  of  a  young,  fair 
woman.  There  was  a  bright  garland  on  the  deftly-braided 
hair,  round  the  neck  a  golden  chain,  and  on  the  waxen 
arms  and  fingers  jewels  not  a  few.  I  have  looked  upon 
some  gruesome  sights  since,  but  never  on  one  that 
shocked  me  so  thoroughly.  I  thought  then — and  I  think 
now — that  of  all  this  earth's  pomps  and  vanities  the  least 
pardonable  are  funeral  parades.  While  the  world  lasts, 
ceremonials  will  endure ;  and  when  great  men  fall  in  Israel, 
perhaps  there  needs  must  be  lyings-in-state.  Yet  those  of 
lowlier  degree  may  well  hope  for  peace  and  privacy  on 
their  bier,  if  they  had  found  them  not  elsewhere.  So, 
even  in  this  our  marionette-show,  it  is  well  to  cover  deco- 
rously, if  not  tenderly,  the  face  of  the  puppet  corpse. 

The  minutes  that  she  watphed  seemed  to  La  Heine 
almost  endless ;  yet  probably  not  ten  had  elapsed  when 
the  door  opened  again  and  Gauntlet  came  out.  His 
countenance  was  not  more  disturbed  than  it  had  been 
when  he  entered ;  but  as  he  closed  his  lips  quickly,  after  a 
vain  effort  to  speak,  even  under  his  thick  mustache  they 
could  be  seen  quivering  and  trembling  ;  and  deathly  cold 
those  same  lips  felt  when,  a  second  later,  they  were 
pressed  on  Laura's  hand  in  grateful  and  reverent  farewell. 
Neither  could  she  repress  a  slight  shiver  as  she  guessed 
where  they  had  caught  their  chill. 

That  silent  leave-taking  was  the  only  one  that  Gauntlet 
exchanged  with  any  soul  at  Kenlis.  He  walked  straight 
from  the  spot,  down  the  staircase,  out  into  the  open  air, 
leaving  word,  as  he  passed  through  the  hall,  that  his  ser- 
vant was  to  follow  him  with  the  carriage  that  was  to  take 
them  to  the  nearest  station.  Neither  did  he  turn  his  head 
or  look  once  backward  till  Kenlis  Castle  was  hidden  be- 
hind a  ridge  of  hills. 

It  was  long  before   Laura  Brancepeth  could  muster 

courage  to  enter  the  chamber  at  the  threshold  of  which 

she  had  been  watching,  but,  having  once  entered,  she  was 

in  no  haste  to  leave  it.     When  she  did  so,  it  was  with  a 

z  33 


386  BREAKING  A  BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

calm  on  her  spirit  which  was  not  afterward  violently  dis- 
turbed. 

The  master  of  Kenlis  shut  himself  up  in  his  own  apart- 
ments after  an  interview  with  the  doctor,  and  would  see 
no  one  but  Alsager:  to  the  latter  fell  the  direction  of  the 
funeral  arrangements.  Only  on  one  point  did  Mark  inter- 
fere; but  there  he  was  stubborn.  Vere's  suggestion  that 
it  might  stifle  much  scandal  if  Anstruther's  body  were 
allowed  to  remain  where  it  lay,  to  await  the  coroner's 
inquest,  he  utterly  set  at  naught,  and  was  scarcely  in- 
duced to  grant  it  shelter  in  a  disused  outbuilding.  The 
other  went  so  far  as  to  bint  that  there  might  be  difficulty 
in  finding  bearers  willing  to  carry  forth  the  ghastly  burden  ; 
for,  putting  Scotch  superstition  out  of  the  question,  the 
servants  were  fairly  unnerved  by  the  events  of  last  night; 
but  the  next  minute  he  repented  of  his  caution,  and  was 
haunted  long  afterward  by  the  expression  on  Ramsay's 
face  as  he  made  answer, — 

"  You  had  better  find  them  soon,  as  you  are  so  squeam- 
ish about  scandal ;  or  I'll  cast  the  carrion  out  with  my 
own  hands." 

After  this  one  outbreak,  he  relapsed  into  sullen  silence. 
When  he  was  advertised  of  Gauntlet's  abrupt  departure, 
he  shrugged  his  shoulders,  as  if  to  imply  that  it  was  just 
what  he  had  expected,  and  did  not  concern  him  in  the 
least.  Yet,  in  the  midst  of  this  apathy,  he  seemed  to  be 
waiting  for  something — not  with  any  eagerness  or  impa- 
tience, but  with  the  expectation  of  one  who  knows  that, 
sooner  or  later,  it  must  come. 

Though  she  was  anything  but  robust  in  appearance, 
Alice  Irving  must  have  possessed  an  exceptional  good 
constitution.  Her  system  had  so  far  resisted  a  shock 
that  would  have  shattered  many  an  athletic  one.  Shu 
had  kept  her  consciousness  throughout,  and,  as  the  pain 
abated,  it  seemed  as  if  she  might  even  escape  the  serious 
danger  of  fever.  Neither  was  her  strength  materially 
prostrated.  The  fingers  only  of  one  of  her  hands  were 
slightly  injured  where  they  had  touched  the  sponge 
scarcely  soaked  in  the  lotion ;  and  she  could  use  her 
hand  perfectly.  Her  sight  was  not  at  all  affected,  though 
her  eyes  suffered  somewhat  from  the  inflammation  around. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  387 

So,  when  she  begged  to  be  allowed  to  write  a  short  note, 
the  doctor,  who  remained  in  attendance,  objected  only 
faintly.  Indeed,  he  thought  the  risk  thus  incurred  would 
be  a  less  one  than  that  of  the  irritation  and  anxiety  which 
might  follow  on  prohibition. 

This  is  what  Alice  Irving  wrote,  and  what  a  few  min- 
utes later  Mark  Ramsay  read : — 

"  They  say  my  life  is  safe ;  and  I  am  glad — or  I  ought 
to  be  glad :  I  am  so  little  fit  to  die ;  but  there  is  still 
danger  of  nervous  fever ;  and,  while  I  am  sure  of  my 
senses,  I  will  write.  Perhaps  I  shall  be  quieter  when  it  is 
done.  Before  you  opened  this  note  you  guessed  it  came 
to  say  '  good-by,' — not  good-by  for  a  little  while,  or  for 
so  many  months  or  years,  but  for  ever  and  ever. 

"  It  is  not  an  easy  word  to  write,  and  it  does  not  make 
it  easier  that  we  have  both  well  deserved  what  has  come 
upon  us.  Yes,  upon  us;  for  I  know  that  your  suffer- 
ings, in  another  way,  are  not  much  lighter  than  mine.  I 
am  not,  and  never  shall  be,  a  good  Christian.  It  was  a 
sin  to  listen  as  I  have  listened  to  much  that  you  have 
said,  and  yet  I  scarcely  repent  it,  even  now :  nevertheless, 
I  know,  and  you  know,  that  if  I  could  have  foreseen  the 
least  fearful  of  the  consequences  I  never  should  have 
listened.  Even  if  I  were  the  same  Alice  that  stood  by 
your  side  yesterday,  I  hope — I  cannot  be  sure;  but  I 
do  hope  —  that  I  should  still  be  able  to  say  that  with 
my  free  will  you  and  I  shall  never  meet  again.  If  no 
judgment  had  fallen  upon  me,  there  never  could  have  been 
happiness  for  us  two,  after  last  night. 

"  If  you  ever  cared  for  me  at  all,  you  will  help  me  now. 
For  pity's  sake,  do  not  prevent  my  going  home  as  soon 
as  I  can  be  moved  :  to  lie  here  is  worse  than  the  burning. 
And  do  not  let  your  eyes  rest  upon  me,  even  for  a  second. 
That  I  could  not  bear. 

"  And  now  we  will  go  our  several  ways.  In  spite  of 
all,  I  will  believe  yours  will  not  always  be  dark  and 
lonely.  As  for  me,  I  shall,  at  least,  never  again  have  to 
struggle  with  temptation;  and  I  trust  the  time  may  yet 
come  when,  without  blasphemy,  I  may  pray  God  to  for- 
give us  both  and  to  bless  you  always.  A.  I." 


388  BREAKING  A    BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

With  a  strange  medley  of  emotions  Mark  pondered 
over  the  almost  illegible  lines.  The  ensuing  horrors  had 
not  abated  the  bitterness  of  the  wrath  and  disappointment 
aroused  in  him  by  the  first  disaster.  Nevertheless,  the 
beauty  that  had  bewitched  him  seemed  already  a  thing 
of  the  past;  and,  though  he  chafed  savagely  over  the  loss 
thereof,  he  coveted  it  no  longer.  He  had  worked  him- 
self into  such  a  dread  of  an  interview  with  Alice  that 
the  certainty  of  its  being  deferred  indefinitely,  if  not  for- 
ever, was  an  intense  relief.  There  was  no  pain  or  peril 
that  this  man  would  not  have  incurred  in  pursuit  of  his 
heart's  desire ;  but  he  shrank  like  the  merest  coward 
from  the  lightest  annoyance  that  must  needs  be  profitless. 
Selfishness  in  this  man  was  sublimated.  If  he  could  have 
followed  his  strongest  impulse,  he  would  have  set  a  hun- 
dred leagues  betwixt  himself  and  Kenlis,  and  he  would 
have  tried  whether  distraction  were  not  to  be  found  on 
earth, — whether  somewhere  there  could  not,  even  for 
such  a  blow  as  that  which  had  smitten  him,  be  found 
anodynes. 

His  meditations,  whatsoever  they  were,  were  brief,  and 
his  answer  certainly  was  not  long  in  penning: — 

"  You  are  far  stronger  than  I  if  you  can  hope,  and  far 
braver  if  you  dare  to  look  forward  or  backward ;  but  you 
shall  have  your  will  now  and  henceforth,  neither  less  nor 
more  than  you  should  have  had  it  yesterday.  Our  ways 
shall  be  apart  while  it  pleases  you.  Only  remember  this: 
while  I  have  strength  and  sense  left,  wherever  I  may  be, 
if  you  say,  'Come,'  there  is  no  power  short  of  a  miracle 
shall  hold  me  back  from  you  an  hour." 

Was  the  curtness  of  the  farewell  designed  in  kindness, 
or  in  cruelty?  Were  the  words,  as  they  were  written, 
sincere,  or  designed  to  lie  ? 

How  often  Alice  Irving  asked  those  questions  to  her- 
self in  the  dreary  after-time  may  hardly  be  imagined.  She 
seldom  dared  listen  to  her  own  heart's  reply, — much  less 
put  the  doubt  to  the  proof.  But  perchance  Mark  Ram- 
say may  yet  have  to  answer  them  in  a  court  where  casu- 
istry has  never  yet  availed,  and  where  the  stubbornest 
criminal  has  never  yet  declined  to  plead. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  389 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

WITH  Blanche  Ellerslie's  ending  it  is  fitting  this  tale 
should  end ;  neither,  concerning  the  events  immediately 
connected  therewith,  is  much  more  to  be  recorded. 

Only  one  inquest  was  held  at  the  castle.  Its  mistress 
had  notoriously  so  long  been  ailing,  and  there  was  so 
little  mystery  about  her  death, — especially  as  it  happened 
in  Laura  Brancepeth's  presence, — that  they  forbore  to 
disquiet  her  remains.  With  no  pouip,  yet  with  all  decent 
observance,  they  laid  her  in  the  family  vault,  over  whose 
rusty  doors  a  great  birch  keeps  guard.  And  let  us  hope 
she  rests  there  not  less  peacefully  because  none  of  her 
kith  or  kin  sleep  near;  for  never  before  within  man's 
memory  had  any  strange  coffin  been  lowered  among  those 
bearing  the  name  and  scutcheon  of  Kenlis. 

With  George  Anstruther  it  was  different.  Of  the  cir- 
cumstances of  his  miserable  end  one  witness  only  could 
speak;  and  from  this  one  he  could  expect  no  more  mercy 
dead  than  he  would  have  met  with  living.  If  Mark  Ram- 
say did  not  stoop  to  exaggeration,  that  he  extenuated 
nothing  is  most  sure ;  and,  albeit  his  testimony  was  de- 
livered with  perfect  calmness,  more  than  one  of  his  hearers 
were  aware  of  the  scarcely  suppressed  rancor.  While  the 
jury  were  deliberating  on  their  verdict,  one  of  the  num- 
ber— a  shrewd  Aberdonian — put  into  words  a  thought 
that  was  probably  in  the  minds  of  more  than  one  of  his 
fellows. 

"He  was  ower  quick  for  ye?"  quoth  David  Anderson, 
quoting  Ramsay's  words.  "Eh!  mon,  I  sair  misdoot 
there  are  twa  sides  to  that.  It  was  written  that  there 
suld  be  murder  in  this  hoose  the  nicht;  gin  it  wad  be 
self-murder  was  nae  sae  sure.  Guid  save  us  a'  I  The 
auld  Enemy  has  been  recht  busy  here,  and  aiblins  mair 
souls  than  his  that  lies  streekit  yonder  hae  fallen  into  his 
net." 

33* 


390  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

But  those  who  were  bold  enough  to  impute  malice  to 
the  Laird  of  Kenlis  acquitted  him  at  least  of  bearing  false 
witness.  Indeed,  his  evidence,  even  if  it  had  not  been  am- 
ply corroborated  by  that  of  the  surgeon,  bore  too  palpa- 
bly the  stamp  of  truth  to  be  set  aside.  One  or  two  timid 
or  charitable  jurors,  insisting  on  the  utter  absence  of  mo- 
tive in  Anstruther's  first  crime,  were  for  the  milder  ver- 
dict of  insanity ;  but  the  majority — made  up  chiefly  of 
austere  elders  and  men  of  standing  in  their  kirk — would 
hear  of  no  such  compromise.  If  crime  had  been  com- 
mitted in  high  places,  the  more  reason  it  should  be  fit- 
tingly branded  and  not  be  wrapped  up  delicately. 

So  over  George  Anstruther  no  burial-service  was  read; 
and  few  of  those  dwelling  in  or  near  Kenlis  know  the 
place  of  his  sepulture. 

When  these  things  were  reported  in  town,  that  same 
verdict  caused  more  scandal  at  the  Orion  than  any  of  the 
other  horrors.  Even  an  Orionite  could  not  be  consid- 
ered exempt  from  mental  aberration,  any  more  than  any 
any  of  the  other  ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to.  To  the  steady, 
responsible  bodies — who,  even  when  they  plunged,  did 
so  too  methodically  to  ruffle  the  surface  of  propriety — it 
was  monstrously  incredible  that  their  associate  whom  they 
had  been  used  to  revere  as  a  club  authority  (Anstruther 
was  actually  on  the  Committee)  should  have  been  at- 
tainted, even  after  death,  with  felony. 

"He  must  have  been  mad,"  they  agreed,  almost  unani- 
mously. Many  had  noticed  —  though  they  had  never 
chosen  to  mention  it  till  now — a  very  queer  look  in  his 
eyes,  and  for  a  full  year  past  a  strange  abruptness  in  his 
manner  and — there  were  fewer  still  that  could  remember 
this — signs  of  weakness  in  his  play. 

"Insane?  Of  course  it  was  insanity!"  Lord  Blanch- 
mayne  growle'd.  "Any  decent  jury  would  have  brought 
it  in  so,  if  it  had  been  on  a  shopkeeper  or  a  deacon ;  but 
there's  no  such  d — d  democrat  as  your  free-kirk  deacon. 
They  never  miss  a  chance  of  snapping  at  a  gentleman, 
alive  or  dead." 

Truly,  so  far  as  his  observance  or  devotion  to  any  form 
of  doctrine,  established  or  disestablished,  was  concerned, 
the  viscount  might  be  presumed  to  speak  impartially. 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLfE'S  ENDING.  39] 

Before  either  the  funeral  or  the  inquest  took  place,  the 
Irvings  had  returned  to  Drumour. 

The  doctor  decided  that  there  would  be  less  danger  in 
the  move  than  in  the  strain  to  which  Alice's  nerves  must 
needs  be  subject  if  she  remained  at  Kenlis.  Her  strength 
still  kept  up  wonderfully,  and  she  walked  to  the  carriage 
that  was  to  take  her  home,  without  faltering ;  but  as  she 
passed  out  through  the  great  gloomy  hall  there  broke 
from  under  her  triple  veil,  that  fell  to  her  knees,  one  dread- 
ful sob,  scarcely  less  piteous  than  the  first  wail  of  her 
despairing  agony.  Among  those  who  watched  that 
departure,  Mark  Ramsay  was  not  numbered.  The  sub- 
ject had  not  once  been  broached  betwixt  father  and  daugh- 
ter, yet  both  were  perfectly  aware  that  after  that  evening 
they  would  set  foot  in  Kenlis  no  more. 

Irving  had  assented  at  once  to  the  removal,  and  had 
made  no  attempt  to  take  any  formal  leave  of  Mark  Ram- 
say, contenting  himself  with  a  verbal  message  to  the 
effect  that  he  would  not  intrude  himself  there  till  after  the 
funeral.  He  was  indeed  more  crushed  by  this  blow  than 
by  any  which  had  yet  reached  him, — not  so  much,  per- 
haps, on  account  of  its  weight  as  of  its  exceeding  strange- 
ness. The  more  he  pondered,  the  less  he  saw  his  way 
through  the  future.  It  seemed  to  him  that  to  be  con- 
stantly in  the  presence  of  such  a  calamity  as  had  befallen 
his  daughter  would  be  more  than  he  could  endure ;  for 
you  must  remember  that,  without  being  in  the  least  sen- 
sitive, he  was  wonderfully  fastidious:  to  look  on  any 
physical  deformity  whatsoever,  even  if  he  had  no  special 
interest  therein,  was  even  more  disagreeable  than  singing 
or  playing  out  of  tune.  To  send  her  from  him,  even  if  it 
were  practicable,  was  a  barbarity  of  which  even  he  was 
incapable.  In  justice  to  him,  it  should  be  recorded  that  he 
gave  no  outward  signs  of  these  misgivings,  but  then,  and 
long  afterward,  behaved  himself  toward  his  daughter  with 
a  tact,  if  not  tenderness,  that  would  have  done  credit  to 
a  more  perfect  parent. 

Through  that  autumn  and  the  ensuing  winter  the  two 
remained  at  Drumour.  In  the  spring  they  went  abroad 
again,  and  have  not  since  returned.  It  is  leased  to 
a  wealthy  Glaswegian,  who,  having  no  more  eyes  for 


392  BREAKING  A   BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

the  beauties  of  nature  than  for  the  points  of  a  picture, 
looks  on  the  place  as  a  mere  shooting-lodge,  and  neg- 
lects it  accordingly.  The  lawn  has  lost  its  soft  velvet 
sheen;  the  parterres  glisten  no  longer  like  plaques  of 
ruby  or  turquoise  enamel ;  and  the  creepers  that  twined 
lovingly  round  Alice's  casement  flaunt  or  trail  at  their 
own  will  or  the  caprice  of  wind  and  rain.  But,  desolate 
as  the  house  may  be,  it  is  bright  and  cheerful,  compared 
with  the  castle  you  wot  of  hard  by.  At  Dr'umour  at 
least  there  are  signs  of  life  sometimes,  though  of  a  rough, 
boisterous  sort;  while  at  Kenlis  there  broods  always  a 
stillness  that  is  worse  than  the  stillness  of  death, — the 
stillness  of  a  curse. 

The  moors  were  caught  up  directly  they  appeared  in 
the  market ;  but,  if  residence  at  the  castle  had  been  thrown 
in,  it  would  have  hindered  rather  than  advanced  the  hiring, 
for  a  very  simple  reason.  The  place  has  such  an  evil 
name  now  that,  if  a  tenant  could  be  found  hardy  enough 
to  inhabit  it,  it  would  be  next  to  impossible  to  find  a  house- 
hold to  minister  to  him  there.  There  is  nothing  more  in- 
fectious than  superstition;  and  the  skeptical  Southron 
serving-men,  when  they  have  once  succumbed  to  terror, 
visible  or  invisible,  are  more  helplessly  subdued  than  the 
most  credulous  Highland  crones.  The  Brown  Ladye 
might  roam  at  her  will  through  the  echoing  corridors; 
and  it  was  whispered  that  now  she  walked  not  always 
alone.  Strange  things  were  reported  to  have  been  seen 
and  heard  by  those  who  tarried  behind  to  set  the  castle 
in  order  after  both  host  and  guest  had  departed.  The 
people  who  were  left  in  charge  to  keep  the  furniture  from 
falling  to  decay,  slept  without  the  walls,  and  performed 
their  duties  always  betwixt  dawn  and  sunset.  Scarce 
one  of  them,  even  at  high  noon,  could  have  been  bribed 
to  go  down  the  dark  passage  at  the  end  of  which  was  a 
room  fast  locked  and  barred, — the  room  where  George 
Ausirutber  escaped  out  of  Mark  Ramsay's  hands,  to  fall 
into  those  of  a  mightier,  if  not  a  more  merciful,  Judge. 

As  for  the  master  of  Keulis,  though  his  wanderings 
since  then  have  led  him  far  and  wide,  they  have  never 
brought  him  home.  It  is  this  constant  restlessness  that 
is  the  most  remarkable  change  in  the  man.  He  was 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  393 

always  fond  of  traveling,  but  he  had  taken  it  in  the  same 
listless,  easy-going  way  that  marked  his  pursuit  of  all 
other  amusements  ;  but  now  be  was  incapable  of  abiding 
more  than  the  shortest  space  in  any  one  spot,  and  this 
anxiety  to  be  gone  is  not  affected  by  the  liveliness  or 
dullness  of  the  place  of  sojourn.  After  the  first  year — 
during  which  time'no  one  knew  much  of  his  movements — 
he  did  not  affect  to  shun  society, — that  is,  foreign  society; 
for  England  and  he  have  been  strangers  since  the  events 
recorded  above,  —  and  outre-mer  society  receives  him 
amiably  enough,  if  with  no  cordial  welcome.  He  had 
been  unhappy  in  his  conjugal  relations,  of  course:  the 
same  thing  applies  to  so  many  Milors.  If  Mark's  story 
was  a  little  worse  than  those  of  others,  it  might  be  im- 
puted to  his  having  a  little  less  than  his  share  of  the 
phlegm  Britannique. 

Does  he  himself  look  so  lightly  on  his  path  ?  That  is 
a  question  no  one  could  answer, — not  even  Yere  Alsager. 
Indeed,  though  there  is  nothing  like  enmity,  overt  or 
covert,  betwixt  the  two,  they  have  seldom  been  seen  to- 
gether since  they  parted  at  Kenlis ;  no  man  or  woman 
could  now  be  said  to  be  in  Ramsay's  confidence  ;  neither 
can  it  be  known  whether  he  would  have  had  the  courage 
to  keep  the  promise  conveyed  in  his  last  message  to  Alice, 
for  she  has  never  written  to  say,  "  Come,"  and  I  think 
never  will. 

It  is  probable  that  this  thread  has  been  plucked  out 
forever  from  the  woof  of  Mark  Ramsay's  life :  yet  in  the 
plucking  forth  the  whole  fabric  was  frayed  and  tangled 
past  mending. 

He  and  Irving  have  met  since,  once  only, — at  Baden. 
Both  parties  would  have  avoided  the  encounter,  had  it 
been  possible ;  but  to  the  latter  it  seemed  especially  un- 
welcome. His  courtesy  was  of  the  coldest,  and  his 
answers  to  the  other's  inquiries-  of  the  briefest  descrip- 
tion. He  simply  said  that  Alice  was  as  well  as  she 
ever  would  be,  and  then  changed  the  subject  decisively. 
Neither  did  he  mention  that  meeting  when,  after  his 
gambling-bout,  he  went  back  to  the  hamlet,  far  up  the 
Schwarzwald,  where  he  had  left  his  daughter.  They 
lived  at  Baden  during  the  winter,  but  before  the  earliest 


394  BREAKING  A    BUTTERFLY;    OR, 

visitors  appeared  retired  to  their  quiet  abode,  where  even 
yet  the  peasantry  have  not  ceased  to  gaze  wonderingly 
after  the  graceful  lady  whose  face  has  never  been  seen 
unveiled. 

We  will  leave  them  there. 

La  Reine  Gaillarde  had  not  yet  abdicated  her  sover- 
eignty ;  but  if  her  laugh  rings  out  joyously  at  times,  it 
rings  not  so  often  as  heretofore,  and  she  has  never  quite 
shaken  off  the  weight  that  settled  down  on  her  spirits  that 
terrible  night  at  Kenlis.  Some  of  her  many  friends  like 
her  the  better  for  the  chastening  of  her  reckless  mood  : 
chiefest  among  these  is  Major  Gauntlet.  Oddly  enough, 
even  the  scandal-mongers  have  f6rborne  to  cavil  at  their 
intimacy.  Yet  there  is  a  secret  betwixt  those  two,  of 
which  the  world  knows  nothing,  and  of  which  they  sel- 
dom care  to  speak.  It  may  be  that  the  big,  brave  heart 
might  be  open  some  day  still  to  receive  with  due  honor 
one  worthy  to  be  enthroned  there  ;  but,  thus  far,  Oswald 
has  never  murmured  in  any  woman's  ear  even  such  words 
as  he  was  not  ashamed  to  speak  to  Mark  Ramsay's 
wife. 

Lady  Nithsdale  is  as  light  of  heart  and  of  foot  as  ever ; 
Regy  Avenel  is  still  her  prime  minister  and  celibate ;  and 
though  Nina  Marston  too  keeps  her  maiden  name,  she 
will  be  Nina  Hampton,  they  say,  before  long ;  and,  though 
a  few  may  envy,  not  many  begrudge  her  the  drawing  a 
quaterne  in  the  matrimonial  tombola. 

It  will  not  interest  you  to  hear  that  Horace  Kendall 
has  had  no  chance  of  repeating  the  bold  stroke  for  for- 
tune that  be  missed  so  narrowly.  He  is  reported  to  be 
studying  hard  in  Italy  now,  with  a  view  to  turn  his  voice 
to  substantial  account ;  and  perhaps  he  may  emulate  Ca- 
mille'Desmoulins  before  all  is  done  in  this  weak,  erring 
world  of  ours. 

Desiderium  tarn  cari  capitis  is  not  always  measured  by 
intrinsic  worth.  Often  to  the  wisest  and  most  virtuous, 
after  their  decease,  more  justice  is  done  by  those  strangers 
who  only  knew  them  by  repute,  than  by  those  who  have 
known  them  familiarly. 

In  ancient  time  there  lived  a  pious  person  who,  having 
walked  long  before  the  Lord  blamelessly,  was  duly  can- 


BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE'S  ENDING.  395 

onized.  Concerning  the  new-made  saint,  thus  spoke  a 
man  scarcely  less  pious,  if  less  illustrious  : — 

"Let  us  intercede  yet  more  earnestly  for  the  dead,  now 
that  Cyril  hath  gone  among  them  !''  ' 

When  Lady  Peverell  is  removed  to  a  better — it  can 
scarcely  be  a  higher — sphere,  not  even,  I  think,  among  the 
children  that  she  has  dragooned  into  helplessness,  if  they 
were  not  goaded  to  rebellion,  or  among  the  poor  who 
have  eaten  the  acrid  bread  of  her  charity,  will  there  be 
found  regard  so  lasting  and  sincere  as  was  wasted — if 
you  will  have  it  so — on  frail,  faulty  Blanche  Ellerslie. 

Though  the  loss  left  its  mark  on  none  so  deeply  as  on 
Gauntlet  and  Vane,  there  are  others  besides — not  a  whit 
given  to  the  melting  mood — who  never  remember  with- 
out bitterness  the  progress  of  her  punishment,  and  who 
never  without  a  sinking  at  heart  see  the  years  bring 
round  the  day  on  which  the  grace-blow  was  dealt  to 
BLANCHE  ELLERSLIE. 


THE    END. 


HAMMOCK    SERIES    No.    6. 


Caleb,  the  Irrepressible, 

WHAT    THE    PRESS    SAY    OF    IT. 

Caleb,  the  Irrepressible. 

"  The  principal  figure  is  an  amusing  charcoal  sketch  of  a  mis- 
chievous colored  boy,  Caleb.  Of  course  the  story  itself  cen- 
ters around  a  number  of  white  people.  Quite  a  convenience 
is  a  frontispiece  giving  the  portraits  of  the  chief  characters  ol 
this  entertaining  novel." — Pittsburgh  Chronicle. 

Caleb,  the  Irrepressible. 

"It  is  a  choice  love  story,  very  pleasantly  told.  The  scene  is 
laid  in  Virginia  during  war  times,  and  Caleb,  the  colored 
boy,  Aunt  Dinah,  his  mother,  and  Katie  and  Jack  are  all  well- 
drawn  characters.  There  is  no  apparent  effort  at  plot  or  fine 
writing  in  the  book,  and  its  simplicity  and  naturalness  add 
to  its  merits." — The  Inter  Ocean,  Chicago. 

Caleb,  the  Irrepressible. 

Caleb  the  Irrepressible  is  a  colored  youth  of  the  rollicking 
and  inimitable  persuasion,  who  pesters  all  those  who  have  to 
do  with  him  and  makes  lots  of  fun  for  everybody  else.  It  is 
largely  a  story  of  darkey  life  in  its  best  phases.  The  story  is 
well  told  and  will  create  interest  in  the  mind  of  the  readers. 
—  The  Herald,  Dubuque. 

Caleb,  the  Irrepressible. 

"  This  '  Hammock  Series'  of  original  novels  has  won  a  good 
place  among  the  best  of  the  popular  series  by  the  flavor  of  the 
soil  and  the  rough  power  that  has  distinguished  the  most  of 
them.  'Caleb'  is  a  daring  effort,  and  not  altogether  unsuc- 
cessful, to  portray  the  characteristics  of  a  negro  urchin,  and 
an  attractive  story  is  woven  in  with  his  adventurer." — The 
N.  Y.  World. 


I2mo.     267  pages.     Frontispiece.     Cloth.     $1. 

Mailed,  postpaid,  to  any   address  on  receipt  of  price  by  the 
publishers, 

HENRY  A.  SUMNER  &  COMPANY, 

2O5  Wabash   Ave.  Chicago. 


HAMMOCK  SERIES,  No.  5. 


BY  MAT  E.  STONE. 
ACTHOE  DOCTOR'S  PROTEGE,  ETC.,  ETC. 


.,  260  pp.,  Cloth,  Gold  and  Black  Stamps. 
Price,  $i. 


"  A  FAIR  PLEBEIAN  is  a  society  story  far  above  the 
ordinary  class  of  summer  Novels,  and  adds  to  the  high 
character  of  the  'Hammock  Series,'  which  as  yet  does 
not  contain  a  poor  story. 

The  author  having  had  large  experience  gives  us  a 
smooth  and  finished  work,  and  a  story  of  delightful  situa- 
tions and  bright  repartee. 

Kitty  Kaw,  the  heroine,  is  as  winsome  a  lass  as  one 
would  wish  to  see. 

It  is  destined  to  have  a  very  extensive  sale  if  merit 
wins." — Critic. 

By  mail,  post-paid  on  receipt  of  price. 

HENRY  A.  SUMMER  &  COMPANY, 

PUBLISHERS, 

CHICAGO. 


HAMMOCK  SERIES,  No.  4. 

"A  Sane~~Lunatic." 

BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  "  NO  GENTLKMKK." 

12  mo.,  325  pp. ;  Cloth,  Black  Mid  Gold  Side  and  Back  Stamp;  Price,  $1. 
This  charming  domestic  novel  should  be  obtained  by  all  lovers  of  good  reading. 
Being  fresh  and  bright  in  conversational  matters  and  original  In  detail,  it  can 
not  fail  to  please.    The  book  Is  illustrated  with  a  unique  frontispiece. 

"A  Sane   Lunatic." 

"'No  Gentlemen'  was  a  good  novel,  but  'A  Sane  Lunatic'  ts  a  better 
one.  Mrs.  Burnham  has  a  good  deal  of  humor  and  some  dramatic 
skill.  Two  or  three  of  her  characters,  with  the  clever  dialog  and 
absurd  situations, 'would  furnish  material  for  a  short  comedy  that  could 
not  fail  to  take.  We  ci-mmend  the  book  for  Summer  reading,  for,  If 
not  great,  it  is  certainly  entertaining,  and  the  work  of  a  bright  woman 
who  bids  fair  to  become  a  very  well-known  novelist." — The  Chicago 
Tribune. 

"A  Sane   Lunatic." 

"We  can  assure  those  who  get  'A  Sane  Lunatic*  that  they  will  have  a 
thoroughly  enjoyable  book.  It  Is  a  story  of  every-day  life,  told  in 
charming  language,  with  a  plot  of  strength  and  intenseness." — The 
Philudelph ia  Chronicle •  Herald. 

"A   Sane   Lunatic." 

"  The  gifted  authoress  of  '  No  Gentlemen'  has  written  a  new  novel  for  the 
Hammock  Series.  The  scenes  of  this  delightful  siory  are  mainly  laid 
in  Fairylands,  Lawyer  Forrest's  beautiful  villa  near  Boston,  with  a 
trip  t  i  the  White  Mountains  between  times.  The  heroine,  Leslie  For- 
rest, is  a  fine  specimen  of  a  lovely  young  lady,  while  Nell  Valentine, 
her  particular  friend,  is  a  vivacious  little  creature  and  a  good  little 
body,  who  would  even  sacrifice  her  own  happiness  to  Leslie's.  The 
hero  of  the  tale  Is  broad-shouldered,  generous-hearted  Douglas  Faver- 
nel.  and  his  excellent  second  is  Tom  Lafhle,  always  full  of  fun  and  a 
great  favorite  with  the  ladies.  It  is  indeed  a  charming  story." — The 
Golden  Rule,  Boston. 

"A  Sane   Lunatic." 

"One  of  the.  cleverest  of  the  annual  swarm  of  'Summer  Novels'  that  has 
yet  appeared." — New  York  World. 

'  A  Sane   Lunatic." 

"It  is  an  excellent  bit  of  Summer  reading,  being  told  In  a  very  pleasant 
manner,  with  nicely  drawn  characters— comparatively  few  In  number, 
an  interesting  but  not  too  deeply  involved  nlot,  und  othe>-  praise- 
worthy features." —  The  Saturday  Evening  Post,  PhiladelyhlH 

Mailed  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price. 

HENKY  A.  SUMNER  &  COMPANY,  Publishers, 

205   W'ABASU  AVE..  CHICAGO 


"MAPLE    RANGE." 

AH  HISTORICAL  ROMANCK  OF  THE  WESTERS  BORDER 

BY  EDNA  A.  BARNARD 

12mo.,  444  pp.,  Cloth;  Side  and  Back  Gold  Stamp;  Price,  $1.25. 

"This  new  novel,  published  by  the  well-known  and 
widely-popular  house  of  Henry  A.  Sumner  &  Co.,  is  writ- 
ten by  Edna  A.  Barnard,  an  authoress  of  Minnesota,  who 
has  received  the  highest  literary  endorsement  of  her  State. 
It  is  a  romance  with  historical  basis,'  teeming  with  inci- 
dents— laughable,  pathetic  and  tragic  incidents  of  early  pio- 
neer days.  A  bright,  vivacious  story  of  Maple  Range,  a 
beautiful  frontier  town  of  Minnesota,  whose  original  set- 
tlers are— some  of  them — with  strongly  marked  character- 
istics, borne  through  the  perils  and  vicissitudes  of  the  war 
of  the  Rebellion,  while  their  homes  are  subjected  to  the 
fearful  visitation  of  the  Indians  in  the  inassacre  of  1862. 
The  first  chapter  introduces  a  my.-tery,  with  the  character 
of  Miannetta,  a  magnificent  woman  of  mixed  blood,  a 
combination  of  noble  principle,  deep  suffering  and  high- 
soiiled  conduct,  rarely  found  among  the  fruits  even  of 
choicest  culture.  The  piquant  coquettishness  of  'Lizbeth 
Harkness  is  in  strong  contrast  with  the  bright  yet  wo- 
manly Mrs.  Ellis,  who  broke  away  from  1  ndian  bondage  arid 
marched  till  she  was  "quoted  at  par."  Another  contrast 
is  afforded  in  the  sterling  manliness  of  Robert  Mayuard 
and  the  vHlainy  of  George  Langmere.  The  wholesome 
humor  that  enlivens,  the  vivid  portrayal  of  individual 
traits,  and  the  fidelity  to  nature  in  coloring,  preserves 
the  narrative  from  the  monotony  and  commonplace  not 
always  avoided  in  ethical  fiction.  We  heartily  commend 
the  book  to  our  readers  as  combining  a  story  of  exceed- 
ing power  and  interest,  a  freshness  of  plot,  a  tenderness 
of  sympathy  and  historical  richness  that  gives  solid  value; 
a  book  that,  when  begun,  will  be  read  through  with  deri- 
vations of  delight  and  wholesome  instruction." 


By  mail,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  price, —  $1.25. 

HENRY  A.  SUMNER  &  COMPANY,  Publishers, 

205  WABASH  AVE.,  CHICAGO. 


AN     INSTANTANEOUS    SUCCESS. 


We,  Von  Arldens. 


IVo-vel 


I2mo,  487  pp.,  illustrated.     Cloth,  side  and  back  stamp.     Retail 
price,  $i. 


'We.  Von  Arldens 

"  Is  a  novel  which  can  not  fail  to  become  exceedingly  popular  with  that 
portion  of  our  people  who  flnrt  in  a  well  written  romance  the  neces- 
sary gold  to  give  a  gilt-edged  finish  to  such  aspirations  as  may  give  a 
new  pleasure  to  existence."— Albany  Post. 

We,  Von   Arldens. 

"This is  an  amusing  story,  racy  in  style,  interesting  in  plan,  and  charm- 
ing in  delineation  of  characters.  ...  A  captivating  story."—  Th» 
Saturday  Evening  Post,  of  San  Prancisco. 

We,  Von   Arldens. 

"Full  of  life  from  beginning  to  end.  Ills  one  of  those  lively  books  that 
are  always  In  demand."—  The  Grand  Rapids  Eagle. 

We,  Von   Arldens. 

"Miss  Douglas  has  written  a  very  pleasant  domestic  story.  The  family 
is  a  lively  one,  and  their  several  characters  are  deftly  drawn." — The 
Chicago  Evening  Journal. 

We,  Von   Arldens. 

"There  is  a  good  deal  of  bright  anecdote  in  the  book."— The  Troy  Times. 

We,  Von   Arldens. 

"It  is  a  homelike  story  with  no  silly  nonsense  In  it.  .  .  .  It  ought  to 
have  a  large  sale."— The  Commercial  Advocate,  of  Detroit. 

We,  Von   Arldens. 

"This  is  a  cleverly  contrived  story,  possessing  marked  originality  and 
interest."— Philadelphia  Herald. 

We,  Von   Arldens. 

"A  lively,  rattling  story  of  county  and  village  life." — Pittsburgh  Daily 
Post. 

We,  Von   Arldens. 

"A  spicily  written  story,  of  powerful  grasp  and  decidedly  Western 
texture.  We  have  been  exceedingly  favorably  impressed  with  the 
story,  and  thJnk  our  readers  will  agree  with  us  in  this  opinion."— 
Pittsburgh  Evening  Chronicle. 

We,  Von   Arldens. 

"It  is  a  very  spicy  book,  bubbling  over  with  wit  and  repartee  of  a  harm- 
less kind.  .  .  .  In  fact,  the  book  Is  a  very  pleasant  pill  to  take  for 
the  blues."— Boston  Sunday  Herald. 

HEMIY  A.  SUMNER  &  COMPANY, 

PUBLISHERS,  CHICAGO. 


WHAT   THE    PRESS    SAY    ABOUT 

A  Peculiar  People 


An  elegant  1 2mo  vol.  of  458  pages,  handsomely  bound  in  cloth, 


A  Peculiar  People. 

"The  recital  throughout  is  spirited,  and  the  hook  as  a  whole  is  one  that 
may  be  read  witli  pleasure,  for  the  information  it  imparts  and  for 
the  profitable  reflections  to  which  it  gives  rise."— Saturday  Evening 
Gazette,  Boston. 

A  Peculiar  People. 

"It  is  interesting  and  well  written."— The  Commercial,  Cincinnati. 

A  Peculiar  People. 

"An  entertaining  sketch  of  oriental  travel.  It  is  full  of  instructive 
description,  historical  references,  and  Interesting  incidents."—  PitU. 
burgh  Dispatch. 

A  Peculiar  People. 

"The  book  will  well  pay  perusal."— A. Ibany  Sunday  Press. 

A  Peculiar  People. 

"There  Is  not  a  dull  page  in  the  book;  it  will  have  many  admirers."- 
Daily  Monitor.  Concord. 

A  Peculiar  People. 

"We  commend  the  book  to  those  who  desire  home-travel  in  a  wonderful 
land  of  mystery  and  marvel,  of  poetry  and  prophecy,  of  philosophy 
and  promise."— Pittsburgh  Post. 

A  Peculiar  People. 

"The  scene  of  this  unique  story  is  laid  in  the  Orient,  in  and  near  Mount 
Lebanon.  A  pleasing  plot  runs  through  the  volume,  which  can  not 
fail  to  interest  the  reader."— Star  and  Covenant. 

A  Peculiar  People 

"The  style  Is  fascinating,  and  shows  the  vigor  of  young  manhood,  while 
the  story  illustrates  the  wisdom  of  a  good,  just  and  holy  life."— 
Gospel  Banner.  Augusta. 


Mai1*^  on  receipt  of  price,  $1.25,  to  any  address,  by  the  Publishers, 

HENRY  A.  SUMMER  &  COMPANY, 

2C5    Waliaii,    Ave..   CHICAGO. 


THE  BED  ACORN". 

BY   JOHN    MCELROY, 

Editor   Toledo   Blade,  and  Author  of  "Andersonville,     etc.,  etc. 


An  elegant  i2mo.,  of  322  pages.     Black  and  gold  side  and 
back  stamp.     Cloth.     Price,  $i. 


READ    THE    PRESS    NOTICES. 

The   Red  Acorn. 

"  It  is  a  bright,  humorous  and  attractive  story  of  the  late  war." — Chronicle- 
Herald  (Philadelphia). 

The   Red   Acorn. 

"The  book  is  rich  in  incident,  and  gives  a  very  faithful  picture  of  army 
life."—  National  Tribune  (Washington,  D.  C.) 

The   Red   Acorn. 

"It  is  a  wonderfully  realistic  story,  so  true  to  life  in  its  descriptions,  and 
in  the  naturalness  of  its  characters,  as  to  lead  the  reader  to  believe  it  was 
history  and  biography,  and  not  romance.  It  is  the  unusual  realistic  character 
of  the  book  which  gives  It  prominence  above  books  of  Its  kind." — Inter- 
Ocean  (Chicago). 

The   Red   Acorn. 

"An  admirable  novel,  called  by  a  name  made  glorious  as  the  badge  of  the 
First  Division  of  the  Fourteenth  Army  Corps,  *  The  Red  Acorn.'  *  *  * 
Each  Is  a  strongly  marked  and  individual  creation,  who  contributes  not  a 
little  to  the  thrilling  Interest  of  the  story." — Tribune  (Chicago). 

The   Red   Acorn. 

"  The  characters  love,  laugh,  fight  and  endure  in  much  the  same  rollicking, 
devil-may-care  style  which  makes  the  soldier-life  in  Charles  O'Malley  so 
enlivening." — American  Bookseller  (New  York). 

The   Red   Acorn. 

"  The  book  Is  a  realistic  story  of  real  people,  who  t>ore  the  heat  and  burden 
of  the  late  war.  It  Is  carefully  and  gracefully  written,  and  the  characters 
become  live  men  and  women  to  the  reader.  The  book  will  become  popular 
with  those  fond  of  fiction  which  is  true  to  life." — Daily  News  (Denver). 

The   Red   Acorn. 

"  The  way  John  McElroy  In  his  new  story,  '  The  Red  Acorn,'  sets  his 
people  to  love-making  and  talking  about  It,  Is  very  refreshing.  It  Is  a  story 
of  the  war;  brimful  of  realism  and  right  smart  talk.  »  •  »  There  is  snap 
in  Rachel  Bond;  something  winning  about  Aunt  Debby.  Ii  is  not  a  dull 
book."— Times  (Philadelphia). 

The   Red  Acorn. 

"The  romantic  element  is  the  most  prominent  in  the  tale;  the  historic  is 
woven  in  in  such  a  manner  as  to  be  highly  attractive,  enlivened  by  pungent 
dialogues  and  amusing  Incidents,  and  some  really  stirring  descriptions."— 
Times  (Denver). 

Mailed,  postage  paid,  to  any  address,  on  receipt  of  price,  $i. 
by 

HENRY  A.  SUMNER  &  COMPANY, 

2O5  Wabash  Avenue,  Chicago- 


THE    SUCCESS   OF   THE    YEAR. 

HAMMOCK  SERIES,  No.  x. 

"No  Gentlemen." 

The  brightest,  most  readable  and  entertaining  novel of  the  seooon. 

WHAT  THE  PRESS  SAY  OF  IT. 

*-  We  are  soon  amused,  interested  and  charmed.  Belonging  to  the  cl«* 
of  stories  popularly  called  *  bright,' and  published  judiciously  at  the 
opening  of  the  season  of  hammocks  and  piazzas,  it  is  far  more  read- 
able than  most  of  its  kind.  The  plot  is  not  too  much  of  a  plot  tor  a 
legitimate  New  England  story,  and  the  conversation  of  '  Jabe  '  is  racy 
enough  to  make  us  forget  that  we  were  tired  of  Yankee  dialect,  ai 
treated  by  Mrs.  Stowe  and  Mrs  Whitney.  Indeed  the  book  la 
thoroughly  enjoyable.  •' — The  Critic,  New  York. 

'  No  Gentlemen  " 

"  Is  a  very  bright  and  readable  novel." — The  Commercial,  Louistitte. 

"  No  Gentlemen  " 

"  Clearly  belongs  to  a  class  whose  highest  ambition  is  to  be  '  bright ' —  ao 
ambition  which,  Indeed,  is  seldom  more  fully  Justined."~2y.e  Dial. 

u  No  Gentlemen  " 

"  Is  readable,  bright  and  never  bores  one." — If.  Y.  Tribune. 

"The  conversations  in  'No  Gentlemen  '  are  bright,  the  Characters  well 
drawn  and  adroitly  contrasted." — Am.  Bookseller,  N.  Y. 

"No  Gentlemen  " 

"  Is  written  in  a  bright,  fresh  style,  something  like  that  of  Mrs.  A.  D.  7. 
Whitney,  or  more  nearly,  perhaps,  that  of  the  author  of  Phyllis  ap«t 
Molly  Dawn,  which  is  to  say,  much  of  it.  *  *  Girl  graduates  of  the 
present  season,  into  whose  bands  I',  falls,  will  seize  upon  it,  after  the 
first  taste,  as  if  it  were  a  rosy  ar  '.  juicy  peach  ;  which,  so  to  speak,  in 
a  figure,  it  very  nearly  is." — L'.erary  World,  Boston. 

Hezcklah  Butterworth,  in  the  Boston  Transcript,mys  of  "  NoGentlemen" 
that  the  plot  is  well  managed,  and  the  story  brightly  told. 

"No  Gentlemen." 

14  The  story  opens  in  Boston,  and  concerns  New  England  life.  The  char- 
acters, relative  to  the  soil,  are  very  clearly  drawn,  and  there  is  a  great 
deal  of  originality  in  the  plot  and  treatment  of  the  story." — Boston 
Courier. 

"It.  is  a  bright  narrative  of  the  summering  of  a  half-dozen  Boston  girls  just 
out  of  school,  at  Red  Farm,  in  Pineland,  with  Miss  Hopeful  Bounce, 
who  advertises  for  summer  boarders,  but  'No  Gentlemen.'  In  order 
to  make  a  novel,  of  course  this  prohibition  must  be  broken  down,  and 
as  the  girls,  particularly  the  heroine  and  her  special  friend,  are  pleas  • 
ant  company,  the  story  is  as  readable  as  If  it  were  a  'No  Name,'  as 
It  is  in  fact." — Springfield  Republican. 

*  No  Gentlemen  " 

Is  issued  In  elegant  style,  being  printed  on  fine  tinted  paper,  makfng  a 
"*ok  of  348  pages,  bound  in  fine  cloth,  with  unique  side  stamp  in  black 
Aid  gold,  and  sold  at  the  low  price  of  $1.      by  the  publishers. 
HENKY  A-  SUMNEtt  &  COMPANY, 
305  W ABASH  AVK., 


HAMMOCK  SERIES,  No.  3, 

"Off  the  Rocks." 

A  NOVEL. 
12  mo.,  417  pp.;  Cloth,  Black  and  Gold  Stamp;   Price,  $i, 

•Off  the   Rocks." 

"One  of  the  very  best  novels  for  Summer  reading  is  the  latest  Issue  of 
'The  Hammock  Scries.'  under  ihe  title  of  'OFF  THE  ROCKS.'  It  will 
surely  interest,  amuse  and  delight  you.  It  is  bright  and  fresh,  and  if 
you  want  a  really  good  book,  get  it." — The  Louisville  Farm  and  Fire- 
side. 

'Off  the   Rocks." 

"It  relates  principally  to  the  family  of  a  retired  army  officer,  and  among 
its  thrilling  incidents  is  the  supposed  loss  of  a  husband  at  sea,  and  his 
final  restoration  to  his  wife.  The  characters  are  well  contrasted,  and 
the  book  is  an  entertaining  one."—  The  Boston  Courier. 

'  Off  the   Rocks." 

"It  is  a  novel  likely  to  be  popular,  for,  in  addition  to  the  working  out  of 
an  interesting  plot,  the  by-play  is  full  of  humor."— The  N.  Y.  World. 

1  Off  the   Rocks." 

"  It  is  a  most  entertaining  novel,  ana  the  best  commendation  we  can  give 
it  is  to  sincerely  advise  our  subscribers  to  procure  a  copy." — The, 
Commercial  Advertiser,  Detroit. 

•  Off  the   Rocks." 

"  It  is  the  best  novel  that  as  so  far  appeared  in  the  '  Hammock  Series.'  " 
—  The  Rochester  Morning  Herald. 

'Off  the   Rocks." 

..  -OFF  THE  ROCKS'  has  our  heartiest  approval  In  every  way,  and  we  hope 
the  Irish  population  will  patronize  the  book,  not  only  for  its  own  intrin- 
sic worth,  but  as  a  token  of  appreciation  of  the  talents  of  their  gifted 
countrywoman  who  is  its  author.  It  is  not  only  well,  but  charmingly 
written,  and  the  plot  Is  of  more  than  ordinary  Interest."—  TJie  Citizen, 
Chicago. 


Off  the   Rocks." 


1  The  story  Is  well  told,  and  will  prove  entertaining  to  its  readers.' 
The  Pittsburgh  Times. 


Mailed  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price. 

HENRY  A.  SUMNER  &  COMPANY,  Publishers, 

205  WABASII  AVE.,  CHICAGO. 


THE    HAMMOCK    SERIES.- No.  2, 


BAEBEKINE: 

TAe  Story  of  a  Woman's  Devotion. 

A  NOVEL. 

*  No  one  can  begin  this  story  without  reading  it  to  the  end, 
for  there  is  not  a  page  at  which  the  interest  flags,  and  it  is  almost 
impossible  not  to  feel  that  '  Barberine '  was  a  woman  of  history, 
and  not  of  fiction." — N.  Y.  Herald. 

"  The  plot  has  to  do  with  a  Russian  Nihilist  conspiracy,  and 
there  is  enough  love,  murder  and  politics  to  furnish  material  for 
half  a  dozen  novels." — Boston  Evening  Transcript. 

"Chicago  publishing  houses  are  fast  coming  to  the  front  with 
good  books,  well  made,  and  sold  at  popular  prices.  This  is  one 
one  of  them,  a  volume  which  we  judge  from  a  cursory  glance,  will 
find  many  readers  during  the  midsummer  weather.  It  is  not  a 
philosophical  treatise,  disguised  as  a  novel  by  a  bright,  well- 
written  story.  The  plot  is  well  laid,  and  the  language  in  good 
taste." — Albany  Sunday  Press. 

"  Few  novels  issued  during  the  last  half  year  are  of  more 
absorbing  interest.  It  is  a  story  of  a  life  of  self-sacrifice.  .  .  . 
There  are  some  fine  dramatic  effects  produced  by  weaving  into 
the  romance  an  insurrection  in  Poland,  life  in  St.  Petersburg,  a 
journey  to  New  York,  and  thence  to  San  Francisco  before  the 
days  of  the  railroad." — N.  Y.  Evening  Mail. 

"It  is  told  with  great  power,  and  in  a  strikingly  realistic 
manner." — Saturday  Evening  Gazette,  Boston. 

"  The  plot  is  intricate  and  exciting,  and  incidents  thickly 
crowded  and  natural." — St.  Paul  Pioneer  Press. 

"It  is  absorbingly  interesting." — American  Bookseller,  N.  Y. 

"  There  is  nothing  prosy  about  it  in  the  least,  but  overflows 
with  a  brilliancy  that  will  cause  it  to  be  read  by  thousands."— 
Commercial  Advertiser,  Detroit. 

"  This  is  a  charming  novel." — Daily  Evening  Post,  San  Fran- 


\  vol.,    I2mo,  365  pages,  Cloth,  Red  and  Cold  Stamp, 
i » i-i <- 1- ,    $  1 . 

Mailed,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  price,  by  the  Publishers, 

HENRY  A.  SUMMER  &  COMPANY,  Chicago. 


A    NEW    AMERICAN    NOVEL 


IH; 


Cl  oz-ivvicw-t  atoz-w  o£ 
trowi/   tCK>t   ct/n-o 


-fi^e, 


"In  many  respects  this  is  a  strong  story."—  .Evening  Journal,  Chicago. 
"Spiritedly  written.''—  Ja««tt«,  Cincinnati. 

"The  writer  may  be  enrolled  in  the  list  of  successful  authors."—  Iowa 
State  Register. 

"  It  is  a  story  wrought  out  with  considerable  skill.  The  style  is  graceful 
and  subdued,  and  although  there  are  several  sensational  incidents,  they  are 
treated  in  quite  an  artistic  manner,"—  Dally  Evening  Traveler,  Boston,  May 
'7,  1880. 

"  Holds  the  attention  closely  from  beginning  to  end."—  Bookseller  and 
Stationer,  Chicago,  May,  1880. 

"The  story  is  not  overdrawn,  but  It  Is  natural  and  life-like,  in  plot  and 
design,  so  much  so  that  it  does  not  read  like  a  novel,  but  a  true  history  of  a 
beautiful  life."—  Albany  (X.Y.)  Sunday  Press,  May  2.  1880. 

"This  is  an  American  domestic  novel,  pure  and  clean,  and  beautiful 
in  all  its  elements."  *  »  Missouri  Republican,  St.  Louis.  May  8,  1880. 

"On  the  whole  'Her  Bright  Future'  is  above  the  general  average,  and, 
If  a  flrst  dash  into  authorship,  is  at  least  very  readable  as  well  as  unpre- 
i  MI  ling."—  Evening  Xews,  Philadelphia,  May  7,  1880 


ct-w 


(Tic 
3lC 


$1. 


HENRY  A.  SUMNER  &  CO., 

PUBLISHERS,  CHICAGO. 


WHAT  THE  PRESS  SAY  OF 


THE 

FRENCH 


OF 
ALBERT  DELPIT. 


O 

O 

MARRIAGE 


Tkt  N.  Y.  Evening  Past,  of  April  19,  says: 

"  The  story  is  told  with  cleverness,  and  there  is  an  intensity  of 
interest  in  it  which  only  very  cleverly  told  dramatic  stories  have." 

The  Pittsburgh  Telegraph,  of  April  9,  says: 

'  A  romance  of  remarkable  power,  but  decidedly  French  in  ito 
many-sided  phases." 

The  Philadelphia  Times,  of  April  22,  says :  _, 

"  It  is  a  singularly  well-contrived  and  well-written  novel.     * 

*  *     As  a  further  indication  of  the  high  literary  standing  of  the 
book,  the  fact  may  be  mentioned  that  it  was  published  originally 
as  a  serial  in  the  Revtu  des  Deux-Mondes." 

The  National  Journal  of  Education,  of  Boston,  for  April  15,  says: 

"  This  is  a  charming,  good  story.     *     *     *     A  book  in  such 
an  attractive  style  is  a  luxury." 

The  National  Literary  Monthly,  of  Toledo,  Ohio,  for  May,  says : 

"  This  is  a  thoroughly  interesting  story,  beautifully  told.     *     * 

*  The  book  before  us  is  a  noticeable  exception  to  this  general 
tile  of  the  past.     From  first  to  last  the  language  is  chaste  and 
,  ire,  and  the  scenes  both  interesting  and  exalting.     It  teaches 
i  forcible  lesson." 

Inventors*  and1  Manufacturers''  Gazette,  of  Boston,  for  May,  says  : 

*  Scenes  are  "ividly  sketched,  and  to  the  life,  and  the  chnrac»e?s 
are  drawn  with  the  boldness  of  an  able  novelist.  It  will  be  rt^u 
Ijy  all  '-lasses." 

Unique  in  sty'e  of  binding.     C'.early  printed   on   fine  paper. 
Odette  s  Marriage  is  offered  at  $l. 

Mailed,  post-free,  on  receipt  of  the  price  by  the  publishers, 

HENRY  A.  SUMNER  &,  COMPANY, 

ZO5  AVab<tsl»  Ave.,  «-Uicuw.» 
Sab  by  all  BookseMers. 


PUBLISHERS,    2O5    WABASH    AVE., 

Offer  tre  following  fresh  and  attractive  books  at  popular  prices-, 

IV.    ZACHARIAH,  THE  CONGRESSMAN. 

A  Tale  u  Vmerlcan  Soclp'y.  By  Gilbert  A.  Pierce.  Illustrated.  Square 
12mo.  heavy  Unted  paper,  black  and  gold  utamp,  440  pages,  $1  00. 

"  Its  Washington  scenes  are  vividly  sketched,  and  to  the  life,  the  char- 
acters are  drawn  with  the  boldness  of  the  ablest  novelist,  and  no  American 
novel  has  ever  fascinated  me  so  resistlessly  and  delightfully  "—  Schuyler 
Col/ax. 

"I  have  read  all  of  'Zachariah.'  and  some  of  Its  passages  two  or  three 
times  ove..  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say  that  it  is  decidedly  the  best  story  >et 
written  in  uhis  country.  Some  of  the  scenes  arc  as  touchirg  as  were  ever 
penned  by  Dickens  himself."—  Charles  Aldrich. 

A  brilliant  story  of  to-day.    Will  be  read  bj  all  classes.    NOW  READY 

III.    A  RESPECTABLE  FAMILY. 

By  Ray  Thompson.   Square  12mo,  black  and  gold  stamp,  etc.  55C  paces, 


A  story  of  New  England  life,  full  of  quaint  humor  and  abounding  In 
ileasing  incidents. 

"  He  has  given  us  an  entertaining  and  not  unprofitable  book.-'—  .Morning 
Sfar. 

"A  perfect  character-sketch  of  the  humorous  and  eprnegr  phrases  of 
American  Life.  The  quaintness  and  native  wit  of  Jones  are  delicious,  and 
many  of  his  sayings  and  doings  recall  the  genial  side  of  Lincoln's  «baracter. 

"'A  thoroughly  enjoyable  book,  and  one  showing  the  peculiarities  of 
American  life  in  a  most  attractive  manner." 

II.    SHADOWED  BY  THREE. 

By  Lawrence  L.  Lynch,  Ex-Detective  Square  12mo,  53  illustrations, 
black  and  gold  stamo.  738  pages,  J1.50. 

The  most  remarkable  and  best  written  of  all  detective  stories.  The 
illustrations  alone  are  worth  five  times  the  price  of  the  book. 

"Shadowed  by  Three'  is  the  novel  of  the  day.  If  the  author  is  as  good  a 
detectiveas  he  is'writer,  tie  would  be  a  boon  toaCongressional  Investigating 
Committee—  (hat  is  provided  they  ever  wanted  to  'find  things  out.'  whicii, 
of  course,  they  don't.  Unf  do  not  imagine  that  this  book  is  ;i  'detective 
story  '  in  the  sense  those  words  are  penerally  understood,  for  it  it-  not.  Hnt 
it  is  a  powerfully  constructed  novel  of  the  school  of  "Hie  Womnll  in  White.' 
•The  Moonsione,'  'Foul  Play,  'etc.  with  the  added  great  ad  vant  age  that  its 
author  is  thoroughly  familiar  with,  and  master  of.  toe  varied  and  entrancing 
material  he  has  so  skillfully  woven  into  bis  vivid  and  richly  colored  story  * 

I.    THE  DOCTOR'S  PROTEGE. 

By  Miss  May  K  Stone.  Square  12mo.  7  illustrations,  black  and  gold 
stamp,  330  pages,  $1.00. 

"The  story  is  of  rare  beauty  and  intense  Interest."—  Boston  Home.  Jour. 

"  It  is  a  very  pretty  domestic  novel  gracefully  written."—  Boston  Sntur.- 
day  Evening  Gazette. 

"Contains  the  material  for  a  three-volumed  novel,  with  enough  surplus 
to  base  half  a  dozen  Sunday  school  books  on.  "—Detroit  Erenino  A<  ir.v 

"The  book  is  one  that  can  not  fail  to  please  all  who  read  its  sparkling 
pages.  The  storv  Is  a  good  one;  genial,  healthful,  and  charmingly  toid.''— 
Wayne  County  Review. 

"The  book  is  a  good  one  because  it  calls  virtue  and  true  worn  an  nood  anj 
the  highest  manhood  into  prominence."—  CMcaan  Inter  Ocean. 

Our  publications  are  all  gotten  up  in  a  superior  style  as  regards  printing. 
binding,  and  illustrations.  Mailed  free  on  receipt  of  price. 

HENRY  A.  SUMNER  &  CO.,  Publishers.  CHICAGO. 


A     000  1 26  890     3 


